The Howling Commandos
by Go Away Olivia
Summary: The story of the Howling Commandos focusing on Bucky Barnes.
1. Chapter 1

They'd been working on bad intel. Of course, that had been a risk going into it. Concerns had been raised, but as usual, the powers that be had decided the risks were worth the reward, and their unit had been sent of as sacrificial lambs on Churchill's alter once more. They'd been successful thus far, and Churchill wanted them to push past the Gothic Line and join a battalion force to invade Germany from the south, since the Siegfried Line to the west was proving so troublesome. If they could get past the Gothic Line, they'd be able to bypass the Siegfried Line completely. If they could get control of the Gothic Line, then they could get entire Regiments marching into Germany. They just needed someone to make it happen, and again, that fell to them.

To be perfectly honest, Bucky was really getting sick of it. It'd been much the same in North Africa. From the moment his company had touched down in Algiers and started pushing east, they were working on mostly blind intel. Twice their company had ended up in battles that weren't even supposed to happen. They'd pulled through each time, but Bucky couldn't help the rather disturbing feeling that their luck was running out. All of them had lost a little faith in the ones calling the shots, especially given how far away the powers that be were from the lines. But, they did their jobs, for better or worse. They pushed through Northern Africa and then up through Italy, where they joined a British company and slogged through rather miserably, fighting as they went. By the time they were nearing the Gothic line, Bucky wasn't even surprised when they stumbled across an entire HYDRA army when they'd been told the only forces suspected in the area was an Italian holdout thirty miles northeast.

They'd rallied, of course. It was by no means their first rodeo, and while they had been given a new group of privates a few weeks ago, most of their mixed British and American unit were seasoned by this point, and used to surprise battles. They pulled together and fought well. They might have even won if not for those ridiculous blue guns. Bucky had almost dropped his own gun in his shock when the private three feet in front of him was shot and reduced to literally nothing in front of him. He'd been wiped out of existence with one shot, not even leaving a body behind. He'd been too much in shock to process the horror of his comrades being vaporized into thin air. The only thoughts in his mind were a vague understanding that they were definitely going to die, and a frustrated, _What else didn't they tell us?_

When the shooting stopped and they were given the option to surrender, their Captain and the leader of their British comrades accepted immediately, ordering them all to drop their guns. Bucky could hardly blame them, even as he reluctantly relinquished his own gun. This was an enemy they were completely unprepared for and completely unequipped to fight. Surrender was the only chance of survival. Still, Bucky didn't necessarily like delaying the inevitable. They were going to die, he was fairly sure of it. Now, it was only a question of when.

The HYDRA soldiers surrounded them and laughed mockingly at their guns as they collected them. Bucky grudgingly figured they had that right. It was rather obvious which of them had the superior weapons at this point. Didn't mean he had to like it though, and as he watched a German soldier laugh and carry off his gun, he had to fight the impulse to snatch it back and club him with it. That was his gun. He liked that gun. And now it was gone and he was feeling fairly grumpy about it all, because how on earth were they supposed to win a war when things of this magnitude were being kept from them. How on earth were they supposed to stand a chance against forces like this, when they weren't even being told about forces like this?

Honestly, he really hated this war.

"Alright, dogs," one of the HYDRA soldiers spoke in a heavy accent as he paced before them, a malicious glint in his eyes, and a pleased twist to his mouth. Bucky scowled at the obvious gloating. It seemed bullies were the same the whole world over. The guy could be any number of the grade school bullies he'd fought with growing up. The same prideful set of the shoulders, the same false sense of superiority as he paraded his strength, seeking to intimidate the weaker kids. Steve would hate this guy. No doubt he'd mouth off and get himself knocked on his ass, then Bucky'd have to step in once again, and then they'd probably both end up dead.

For the hundredth time, Bucky felt relieved that Steve wasn't here with him. He'd thought it the first time they'd seen combat and he'd been thinking it ever since. This was no place for Steve, who was all good and pure and idealistic. Idealism didn't fare so well on the ground, and that wasn't something in Steve that Bucky wanted destroyed. Sure, Steve could stand to be a bit more realistic at times, but he'd always liked Steve's idealism; his ability to see goodness in places Bucky never could. Not to mention, there was no way Steve would have survived that first winter. But he didn't have to worry about that now. Steve was home and he was safe, and thanks to the army letting him split half his service pay (half for Steve and half for his mother), Steve had enough to eat decent and keep warm. He'd be fine at home. That was likely the only peace Bucky would get before he died. It was enough.

"You're going to come with us," the German bully continued. "Anyone who resists will be shot. When we reach our destination, you will be put to work. Anyone who resists will be shot. Anyone who isn't useful will be shot," he said, widening his malicious grin. "You don't want to be shot."

Because all of them had _wanted_ to get shot before they saw those blue guns. Right. Bucky couldn't help it; he rolled his eyes. And of course, with his rather stellar luck, the HYDRA soldier saw, and sensing a challenged to his authority, he stalked over.

Bucky hid a sigh.

The HYDRA soldier stopped right in front of him and glared, but Bucky met his gaze evenly. He wasn't afraid of him. He was a little afraid of the crazy blue gun in his hands, but he wasn't afraid of the soldier. "You. At your knees," the soldier demanded loudly and right in Bucky's face.

It took real will power not to roll his eyes again. "It's _on_ your knees, you German asshole."

There was a loud snort somewhere to his left that he'd bet all he owned belonged to Dugan. Behind him Jones hissed out a warning, "Don't do it, Sarge." Bucky just watched the soldier's face darken a shade or two and thought maybe that hadn't been the right thing to say to the man. Still, he didn't believe in delaying the inevitable, and if he was going to die (which was extremely likely at this point, with the soldier staring him down with a crazy gun in his hands), then he would do it on his feet, not on his knees. Idly, Bucky wondered just how he'd become the unluckiest son of a bitch to ever leave Brooklyn.

" _On_ your knees," the soldier spat. "Now."

Bucky contemplated it for 0.2 seconds, tossed it aside, and then quickly and suddenly drove his head directly into the soldier's nose. The soldier yelled in pain and Jones shouted out a warning right before something very solid struck him on the side of his head.

His vision went black.

When he came to he was very aware of exactly why pissing off the soldier had been a bad idea. His head hurt, and every little movement made it pound harder. And he _was_ moving, that much he was sure of. Though he couldn't speak to _how_.

He let out a groan.

"Oh, you're alive, huh, asshole?" Dugan's gruff voice demanded, sounding a bit labored.

"What's your problem, Dum?" Bucky grit out, wincing as he tested out opening his eyes. He blinked down in confusion at his feet dragging the ground then closed his eyes again, giving up on the idea.

"Your ass is heavy and I've been dragging it for two hours now; that's my problem," he grumbled.

"Yeah, Sarge," Jones grunted from his other side. "Maybe you should think of skipping some rations."

"You first," he grumbled, finally understanding his position. Dugan and Jones each had one of his arms slung over their shoulders and they were dragging him along.

"You done napping?" Dugan asked.

"Don't know. Wouldn't mind another hour or two," he remarked as lightly as he could manage with the pounding in his head.

Dugan swore grumpily and Jones asked, "Can you walk, Sarge?"

"Let's find out," Bucky replied. They paused a moment letting Bucky get his feet under him to try and support his own weight. They didn't release his arms though, and instead started moving again carefully, letting Bucky move with them. He stumbled a little bit at first, but his steps quickly steadied. Only then did they gingerly return his arms. He grimaced as he stretched them out. They were sore.

"I'd apologize for making you carry me, Dum Dum, but I think we all know you could use the workout," he ribbed, because they were all a little too solemn at the moment while they were being marched deep into enemy territory, and Bucky didn't like it. Not to mention he could see the traces of deep worry on both of his pals, and he felt a little bad for causing it.

Dugan gave him a furious look and Bucky chuckled, a bit weak due to the pounding in his head, but definitely amused. Jones looked amused as well, because most of the time it was Dugan getting under everybody's skin, and it was always fun to see that turned back on him, when the bastard took such great pleasure in pissing them off. When Bucky and Dugan had first met, they'd come to blows in less than five minutes. It took them till that first unexpected battle in North Africa for them to bury the hatchet. It was also the battle that had gotten him promoted to corporal, and shortly after, Sergeant. Dugan had clapped him on the shoulder proudly, and shoved a flask in his face. They'd been pals since, but they both still liked to piss the other off. Jones put up with them both with heavy sighs, and long winded speeches about being the responsible one of the three.

"Not that I'm complaining, but I'm a little surprised I woke up at all," Bucky stated frankly after a few moments of silence. "How'd you convince him not to kill me?"

"Didn't have to convince him. He seemed to think you'd suffer more wherever they're taking us." Jones answered.

Bucky just snorted, utterly unimpressed with the sadistic bastard. "Did I break his nose?" he asked, hopefully as he gingerly probed around his right temple. It hurt like hell, and when his fingers came away, they were sticky with drying blood. He grimaced and gingerly rubbed it off from where it had dripped down the side of his face.

"Hell yeah. Asshole 's already got two black eyes. Was beautiful, Jimmy," Dugan praised, ignoring the glare Bucky shot at him for the nickname.

"It was stupid," countered a rather irate Brit.

Bucky turned slightly towards their British comrade. The two companies had been fighting together for almost a year now, but there was somewhere around four hundred men total, and they tended to stay within their own squads and their own companies when working. There were still Americans he didn't really know, and they'd been together over a year now, so it was no surprise he knew so few of the Brits. The Brit in question was scowling beneath his maroon beret, and Bucky was pretty sure his name was Falsworth.

"Who asked you, limey?" Dugan demanded, making the man growl.

Jones heaved a sigh and looked at Dugan, "Really, Dum? Why can't you just make friends like a normal person?"

"Cause he ain't normal," Bucky drawled.

"Watch it, Jimmy," Dugan warned.

"Just telling the truth," Bucky said, trying to ignore how his head was pounding in a steady beat with every step he took. It wasn't really working. The soldier he'd pissed off was up front somewhere, and it was probably a good thing, because his head couldn't handle another blow like that. He was feeling fairly nauseated as it was, and there was no telling how much longer they'd have to march. He highly doubted their captors would be offering breaks either, which meant he had made the march exponentially harder on himself. Bucky was mature enough to realize when someone else was right.

"Besides, he's right anyway, Dum," he admitted. The Brit looked slightly mollified at that and muttered, "Damn bloody right."

Dugan looked like he wanted to argue on the principle of disagreeing with the brit alone, but the desire to berate Bucky himself one out. "Yeah, alright. It was hella stupid, Jimmy. What were you thinking, you idiot?"

Bucky grumbled, "Stop calling me, Jimmy, Dum Dum, or so help me."

"I'll stop calling you Jimmy when you stop acting like a dumbass kid."

Bucky rolled his eyes which turned out to be a _bad_ idea with the vicious headache. Still, he had never taken Dugan's crap, and he wasn't about to start now. "Jones, I do believe the Corporal needs a reminder of our current score. Would you care to do the honors?"

"It's three and a half to one, Dum Dum," Jones reported immediately.

Dugan scowled, "I'm counting this in my favor, Jimmy, since they'd have killed you if Jones and I hadn't been willing to carry your ass."

"Well then it only counts as half since you shared it with Jones," Bucky reported immediately. "Which was your rule, by the way. Three and a half to one and a half. If you want to change it, I'd be happy to make it four to two."

Dugan slid him a look, that let Bucky know that he wasn't giving up quietly, "You're a pain in the ass, _Jimmy_ , you know that?"

"I'm warning you, Dugan," Bucky said, annoyed. "I hold the rank here."

"You gonna pull rank, Sergeant Jimmy?" Dugan challenged.

"You bet your ass, I'm pulling rank," Bucky declared hotly, because if there was one thing that got under his skin, it was being called "Jimmy." "You just earned yourself third watch for a month, Corporal."

"What?!" Dugan snapped loudly, garnering attention. Bucky didn't care though. He would be ruthless in enjoying his victory. Dugan was naturally a bit of an early riser, which made it extremely difficult to go back to sleep after third watch when there was only an hour or two left to sleep. Bucky, on the other hand, had years of experience of catching sleep whenever he could between working multiple jobs and sitting death vigil by Steve for weeks at a time through hard winters. He could drop to sleep whenever for however long there was time. It was something Dugan was extremely jealous of, and it was also why Bucky usually took the third watch on a normal four watch night. It was just harder on almost everyone. Second watch was alright, because there were still four hours left to sleep if they were lucky. If they were regulated to three watch nights, Bucky would take the second. Now though, he was going to enjoy forcing it on Dugan.

"You heard me, Corporal. You're on third watch, or second as the case may be," he declared authoritatively.

"You're a right bastard, Sarge," Dugan scowled.

Bucky grinned and the Brit, Falsworth, looked at them confused. "Isn't that a bit of an abuse of authority?" Bucky, Dugan, and Jones slid him blank looks, and he shook his head, looking less irate and more amused than he had before. "Americans."

"Don't be jealous you're not one of us," Jones declared.

He snorted. "Hardly," but he really was looking amused now, and since his fellow company men were still scowling in that vastly superior way they had, Bucky moved aside slightly so he could join their line. He was supremely unhappy with their current circumstances. They all were. But they weren't lying down and giving up, and they'd keep laughing and joking because it was better than the alternative. And when Falsworth stepped into their line, Bucky knew he got that too.

"James Buchanan Barnes," Bucky said, holding out his hand. "Bucky or Barnes is fine. Don't call me Jimmy though," he warned, "or I'll find other ways to abuse my authority."

"Barnes then," he said. "Bucky is just ridiculous."

Bucky shrugged, "You say that, but I met one of your pals named Alastair the other day, and another named Eadric, so you Brits have no room to talk."

"You met the Braddock brothers? My sincerest apologies. James Montgomery Falsworth, by the way. Pleasure."

"Nice to meet you too, Monty. And don't feel bad for wanting to punch this one in the face," he said, clapping a hand on Dugan's rather large shoulder, and earning himself a glare in return. "We've all done it once at this point, except for maybe Jones, here, but he's a saint who gets along with everybody." And it was true. Jones was a generally upbeat, amicable guy, and he didn't know a single person in their company or the British forces who'd joined them that didn't like the guy. Which was probably why he'd started hanging around him and Dugan as soon as they'd become friends. He followed after them, smoothing the feathers they ruffled. Bucky sort of wished he'd been around in Brooklyn. With Gabriel Jones trailing after Steve, he'd probably never gotten into a physical fight.

Jones shrugged easily, "He speaks the truth."

Falsworth arched a brow in that supreme way all Brits were probably taught before grade school and asked, "That everyone bashes Dugan or that you're a saint?"

"Both."

He smirked.

Bucky could see Dugan sizing Falsworth up. The wheels were turning in his head as he took in the proper British aristocrat. Falsworth hadn't said, but Bucky was willing to bet he was a Lord. Many of the Brits were pompous bastards, in his opinion, but none quite had the bearing of Falsworth. That sort of natural authority wasn't taught after just a year on the ground. That was something you were raised into. The only question Bucky had, was why he didn't have a higher rank. He'd been under the impression that any nobility automatically entered the war as a commissioned officer.

Dugan could see all of the same things Bucky saw, and he just knew Dugan was gearing up to start his dirtiest and bawdiest jokes and stories in an effort to make Falsworth as uncomfortable as possible. Bucky smirked and decided he wouldn't mention the other day when he overheard Falsworth tell the dirtiest joke Bucky had ever heard. He'd let Dugan figure that one out on his own. It'd be more fun that way.

He was right, of course. It was only a few minutes before the two were trying to outdo each other with the dirtiest anecdotes. They were pretty impressive too. Bucky had worked a job down at the docks, and been in the army over a year now, so he'd heard his fair share of bawdy tales, but Dugan and Falsworth made it an art form. Falsworth was almost better at it, because his prim and proper bearing made them all the more outrageous. Before long, a whole cluster had grouped around them and were laughing quietly at the men's jokes, right until one of the guards vaporized Rawlings for laughing too loud.

They marched in silence for several hours after that.

"We still headed northeast?" Bucky eventually whispered towards Dugan. He was pretty sure they were, but Dugan was a bit of a human compass, and Bucky wanted to be sure.

"Yeah, Sarge."

"How long you think? Fifteen miles?"

"Since you woke up," Jones agreed. "Probably twenty total."

Bucky nodded. They couldn't do much with the knowledge, at this point, but Bucky still preferred to know where they were if an opportunity arose. "We must be coming up on Azzano then, right? They must have a base around there. That small Italian holdout probably doesn't even exist."

"Probably," Falsworth agreed.

They marched for another two hours. Bucky's feet ached in his boots. His whole entire body ached, but that wasn't exactly a new feeling since joining the army. In fact, it was a feeling he'd gotten used to when he picked up that second job working at the docks. He hadn't wanted to, and he'd made fairly decent money as a waiter at one of the nicer restaurants in town, but his mother needed help feeding his sisters, and then he and Steve had to pay rent, and there never seemed to be enough for Steve's medicine, when he needed it. Steve was sick so much, and working at the shop while he was sick just made it worse in the long run. Never stopped him, of course, but Bucky had ended up picking up a third job stocking at the shop Steve worked at, and even then, they only ever just made it. The army had been a bit of a relief in that sense. He didn't need any of his pay while on the ground, and even split between Steve and his mother and sisters, it was still more than he'd been able to give either of them before. It'd be a bit less if he died, of course, but they'd take care of his mother, and Steve was listed as his next of kin, so they'd take care of him too. At least for a little bit.

They were coming up on Azzano when they met up with more HYDRA soldiers who were holding a band of twenty angry Frenchmen. Bucky couldn't speak German, but he understood the main gist; more prisoners. The Frenchmen were forced into their group and they were told to keep marching.

"They must be part of the Free French," Bucky said, looking at the band of ragged looking men curiously. "But what the hell are they doing all the way out here. I figured they'd have their hands full in their own country."

"I'll ask," Jones said with a shrug before rattling off in fluent French. Bucky's eyebrows shot up. He'd known Jones over a year now and hadn't even known the man spoke French. He knew he was smart as hell, but French was something he'd failed to mention. Jones hadn't exactly been in the habit of flaunting his intelligence, though.

One of the Frenchmen looked at Jones, absolutely delighted he was speaking French, and replied enthusiastically. Jones laughed and replied, shaking his hand. He turned back to them and explained, "They were blowing stuff up. That's what they were doing in Italy."

Bucky gave the Frenchman a considering and rather impressed look before holding out his hand. "Good on ya. James Buchanan Barnes."

The man smiled and took his hand, "Jacques Dernier."

Dugan clapped him on the shoulder; his usual greeting. "Welcome aboard, Frenchie."

Dernier didn't seem to mind the nickname, just smiled and nodded.

None of them were smiling when they finally reached the HYDRA facility they'd be staying at. It was huge; a complete concrete fortress, and there were even more HYDRA forces moving out. They'd be outnumbered, even if they were able to get their hands on those crazy ass guns they had. Bucky looked at it grimly and with a profound certainty that he wouldn't be leaving this place. He didn't know how he knew that, but he knew it deep in his bones.

They were marched through the complex, and with each step they grew more and more grim. It was as much of a fortress on the inside as it was on the outside. Sure, a small group of men could probably get in or out, but it would be difficult as hell to get all of them out. They'd have to take the base, which with enough time and planning, they might be able to do. Being able to coordinate with everyone on the same page would be the tricky part. He glanced about looking for their captain. He was a bit of a bastard, but he wasn't a bad leader. Bucky would have done things differently, but he wasn't in charge of some two hundred rowdy asshole Americans, so what did he know? And they were assholes. Every last one of them, including himself. Well, not Jones. Every one of them but Jones. Bucky was directly over forty of those assholes, most of whom were around him now. Not all of them were present though. He didn't know who'd been killed and who'd successfully pulled back when the captain had given the order. He counted up quickly. He was missing thirteen. He really hoped all thirteen hadn't been killed.

"Everyone paying attention?" he whispered to the men around him.

"Yeah, Sarge," they replied back, and that was good enough. They'd need quite a bit of planning to pull off the op, and most of his men wouldn't even be involved in the planning, but every single one of them needed to know as much about the layout of this place as possible.

"Good. You pay attention and you learn every damn thing you can," he told them quietly. "Got that?"

He got back several, soft affirmatives, but he knew that was only because they were being watched. Every single one of them had hard, observant looks in their eyes, and he knew they were paying attention.

They were stopped inside what looked like a huge factory and they were surrounded by soldiers and those blasted guns. Up on a catwalk above the factory floor stood a man, and Bucky's attention focused in on him immediately, knowing without a doubt he was the one in charge here. Beside him stood a shorter, round man in a white lab coat with round glasses. The second in command, though not an obvious choice.

"Good evening, gentlemen," the one in charge spoke, when they were all assembled. "I'm General Johann Schmidt. Welcome to my facility. Now, I believe there are two companies represented here; American and British. Where are your captains?" he asked.

Bucky stood a little straighter as warning signals shot through his brain. Their captain and the captain of the British forces both stepped forward out of the throng of men. Bucky automatically took half a step forward, because if he was in charge of this place, he knew exactly what he'd do, and he didn't want that to happen. But Dugan grabbed his shoulder in an iron grip, keeping him in place.

Sure enough, Schmidt raised his hand and the captains were vaporized.

He grit his teeth.

"Now that that's taken care of I think we will have a good working relationship," he continued calmly and easily. You will be fed and allowed rest, because we need you strong enough to work in our factory. If you are not useful, you are disposable. I suggest you all make yourselves useful." With that he looked at his soldiers. "Show them to their accommodations. Rest tonight. You start in the morning."

Bucky fairly scowled as they were marched through the place and down to a an area full of what looked like glorified bird cages, barred and open on all sides, including the top where the top bars operated as grates so that the men walking guard on the upper floor could watch them from above as well. Their gear was taken from them and they were all searched for knives, picks, or anything else that could help them, and then they were pushed into the round, barred cages in groups of five or six. Bucky couldn't help but give the guard searching him a look and ask, "How's your friend's nose?" He was pissed, and he always got mouthy when he was angry. That part, he wasn't sure if he'd gotten from Steve, or if Steve had gotten it from them. They were probably both born with it.

The guard scowled and forcefully shoved Bucky into the pen with the butt of his gun. Bucky stumbled, but managed to stay upright as the door slammed behind him and locked definitively. He'd gotten Dugan, Jones, Falsworth and the Dernier guy as pen-mates. Not too bad, considering. Most of his men were within view as well, so that was also good.

Jones sighed, distracting him, "You and Dugan. Making friends, wherever we go."

Bucky shrugged, unrepentant. "We're Irish. This _is_ how we make friends."

"Here, here," Dugan agreed.

Falsworth looked at them, "You two are Irish? That explains everything," he spoke in that wry British tone that made everything he said sound condescending.

Bucky just chuckled, "You've seen nothing till you've seen the Irish of New York. Bastards, the lot of 'em. Myself included."

His father had immigrated when he was three. His mother was born in America, but just barely. They'd both been raised in Brooklyn and the Brooklyn accent was dominant, and less likely to get you into any sort of trouble. Immigrants hadn't been the most popular people before the depression. During the depression, everyone was poor as dirt so it mattered less where you came from. The depression hit when he and Steve were twelve and lasted till they were twenty. Steve's mom was a nurse, so she had steady work, but she was a single mother and it'd been hard on her to get enough food on the table for the two of them. She'd died at the tail end of it. Bucky's dad had died a few years in and though they'd been a bit better off than the Rogers beforehand, by the time it was over, it was just as hard for him and his mom to feed all of them as it was for Sarah and Steve. His mother's teacher's salary was pittance, and his work options had been limited until he was out of high school. His mother had refused to let him drop out early, to help feed them, being the teacher she was. Even though they'd all been poor as dirt, Sarah had never begrudged him a meal whenever he was over, and his parents and then later his mother had always been happy to have Steve at their dinner table as well. Steve ate Sunday dinner with them every week after his mom died. Bucky hoped he still did. His sisters had always loved Steve, and his mother had treated him like another son.

"An Irish combined with an American," Falsworth said drily, breaking Bucky away from his thoughts. "Truly a terrifying notion. And I'm sharing a cell with two."

They all snorted and Dugan grinned at the man. "Don't worry. You'll learn to love it. People always do."

"I highly doubt that. On both accounts."

Jones snorted and translated for the Frenchman, who chuckled appreciatively.

"Alright," Bucky said, getting their attention. "Where's the lieutenant? I didn't see him earlier." With the captain dead, Harrison was technically next in line. He was a bastard, and they had very little hope of getting out of there, but it would still be good for morale if they had a first in command and the illusion that there was hope.

Jones shook his head, and Dugan replied. "Bastard didn't make it. He was killed in the initial attack."

Bucky swore. That left the sergeants. There were three others in their company, and Johnson for sure hadn't made it. Which meant three of them total for their troops, and who knew for the Brits. And they were all just sergeants. None of them more than a year or two on the ground, and none of them remotely trained to lead large numbers.

"They got us truly buggered, don't they," Falsworth declared grimly.

"Sure looks that way," Jones replied.

Bucky nodded, because it was true. And it wasn't like their side was going to mount a rescue mission. Numbers wise, it just wasn't worth the risk. And if the powers that be were feeling particularly like decent human beings and did decide to mount a rescue, they'd be completely unprepared to take on a place like this with these kinds of weapons. They'd be obliterated. Which meant they were well and truly fucked, and there wasn't a damn thing Bucky could do about it, but do his best to keep them alive and going for now.

"Let's set up a four man watch," Bucky declared. "They'll work us probably fourteen to sixteen hours a day, but if they want maximum efficiency, they'll give us eight hours of sleep a night. Which means two hours watch a piece, with one man getting a night off every four days. Dugan, you're permanently on third watch."

"Fuck you, Sarge," Dugan grumbled.

Bucky just grinned and continued. "Everyone else will rotate first, second, and fourth." He then looked around at his men in the other pens and said a little louder. All of you, set up a four man watch. I think we'll all sleep better with someone watching our backs."

"Yes sir."

Bucky nodded, satisfied. "Jones, first. I'll take second, Monty take fourth. Let him sleep," he said, gesturing to Dernier. "They don't look like they've slept for a while," he said, thinking of all the ragged looking free French now with them.

Gabe nodded and quickly translated for Dernier, who adamantly protested he was fine to watch tonight, but after Gabe explained they'd all be getting nights off from watch in turn, he assented. They settled in.

"Just think of it as one long training exercise," Dugan declared. "We'll be fine."

They nodded affirmation, but Bucky still couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't going to make it out of there. Even if the others did.

He shoved it out of his mind, and went to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** As promised, Part 2 is much, much longer than part one. Thank you for being so kind to me. I hope you enjoy part 2!

 **PART TWO**

"Well, Jimmy; no one would ever accuse you of being smart," Dugan remarked cheerfully as he picked Bucky up by the shoulders with little regard for what being roughly pulled to his feet did to his muscles after being beaten and electrocuted by those damn cattle prods just moments before.

"Fuck off, Dum Dum," he grumbled, swatting the larger man's meaty hands away from where they were checking him over. He was grumpy as hell. "And, you're no genius yourself, I'll have you know. There's a reason we call you Dum Dum, asshole."

"Hey, don't get crabby with me. You're the one who just got your ass kicked. That's completely on you," he declared, like it made no difference to him whether or not Bucky was beat to hell. Bucky might have believed him, if not for the fact that those meaty hands were back, _gently_ checking him over, carding through his hair looking for blood. This was probably karma for all the times he'd done the same to Steve after one of his fights. Still, he'd like to think he wasn't half the patronizing asshole Dugan was. And damn it all, he just wouldn't stop with the hands.

" _Dugan_ ," he snapped, shoving the man's hands away again. "Off."

"You alright, Barnes?" Jones asked him casually, which Bucky appreciated. The last thing he needed right now was to be fussed over. It'd been weeks since they'd gotten to Azzano, and Bucky hadn't made friends. That first encounter with Rudolph had set a sort of precedent that Bucky didn't particularly appreciate. Calling him Rudolph had probably only escalated the problem, but not only was it a common German name, but the red nosed reindeer part was just hysterical after the bloody, broken nose he'd given the guard, and Bucky hadn't been able to help himself. Needless to say, Bucky wasn't his or his friends' favorite person. Or he was, depending on how you looked at it. Not only that, but it was getting colder and colder at night. He'd started coughing two days ago, which hurt like a bitch when he had a cracked rib. The cough was only getting worse too, but while Jones snuck concerned looks, at least he didn't say anything outright.

"Fine, fine," Bucky replied with a sigh, putting some space between him and Dugan so he could sit down in peace without being felt up for the third time. Gingerly, he leaned against the metal bars.

"The hell were you thinking?" Monty snapped. He sounded even more like the pompous son of a lord when he was angry or worried. That's how Falsworth dealt with stress; he got snippy and condescending. That was how his whole damn country dealt with stress as far as Bucky could tell.

Bucky sighed irritably. This was really not what he needed when he felt like crap. They were all too damn loud.

Dernier grumbled angrily at him in French. The only parts Bucky understood was "fuck" and "stupid," but he got the gist and gave his best glare in return. Dernier just arched a brow and he and the others looked at Bucky expectantly, waiting for him to explain his actions. He gave in, and let himself slump further against the bars.

"Adams is just a kid," Bucky slurred a bit, settling his aching head against the cold bars. "A stupid one, yeah, but a kid."

"You're not much better," Dugan shot back, more serious than he had been moments before, which made Bucky frown. Dugan was actually concerned, and damn if that didn't make him uncomfortable.

He managed a careless shrug, "Maybe to you, old man, but I've got eighteen months on the battlefield that that kid doesn't, and you know what kind of a difference that makes to someone that green."

"Maybe, but you do realize that if you keep using yourself as a distraction sooner or later their attention is going to fixate even more on you. And you can't afford the extra attention with that cough of yours." The older man warned, ignoring the quip about his age, which again spoke to how concerned Dugan actually was.

"He's right, Barnes," Jones said quietly. "Try to lay low for a bit, huh?"

Barnes heaved a sigh, "I was actually trying," he admitted, which was just kind of sad, because he'd honestly been mostly trying this whole time, and look at how good he was at it. "I didn't mean to get involved. I just have three loud mouthed younger sisters and a brother who gets himself into more trouble than _me_. It's more instinctual than anything else at this point. And like I said; Adams is just a kid _and_ he's one of ours." The unlucky bastard had been dropped into the platoon Bucky oversaw scant weeks before they were picked up by HYDRA. He was as green as they come, but he was a good kid. Bucky had dismissed rank very early on in their captivity. They were in this together, and his pen-mates were his equals, not underlings, but he couldn't help but feel responsibility for Adams still. When the fool kid had found himself on the wrong side of those guards, Bucky had jumped in before even realizing what he was doing. For a split second, it'd been Steve there, and then there he was, shoving Adams out of the way and mouthing off enough for them to switch their focus. That was when the beating and the glorified cattle prod came in.

"Lay low," Dugan said firmly, giving him a hard and serious look. "Lay low and we'll pick up the slack."

The others nodded so Bucky nodded. "Yeah, alright. You guys have been getting lazy anyway. Probably will be good for you," he joked.

Dugan and Jones tossed their jackets at his face and he let out a raspy laugh that hurt like hell as he tossed them back. "Wake me up for my watch," he murmured sleepily, and just like that he was out like a light.

No one woke him for his watch. And when he did wake up that morning as the guards called their friendly wake up call, he was wrapped up tight in Dugan's jacket. He glared at the man as he tossed it back, but Dugan shrugged unapologetically.

Laying low wasn't much of an issue, it turned out. His cough worsened dramatically over the next few days, and he got a fever to go with it. Bucky had nursed a pneumonia ridden Steve enough times to know the signs, so he knew he was pretty much done for. As soon as he was too weak to work he'd be dragged off to be shot. There wouldn't be any recovering. Not from pneumonia. Not in these conditions when they were working fourteen to fifteen hours a day with no heat but whatever their working bodies generated. He was done for, and it was something he understood with a sort of weary detachment. There was no fear. No panic. Just resignation and a pang of regret that Steve, his mother, and his sisters might never know for sure what happened to him. That bothered him more than anything else; the idea that they'd forever wonder.

Unfortunately, he'd already made enough of a menace of himself over the last several weeks that Rudolph and his buddies noticed that he was lagging a bit. They made sure to give him hell for it, too. Bucky was beginning to suspect he'd be beaten to death by the guards before he could manage to die from the pneumonia. At least that would be faster, he supposed. If he was taken out back to be shot, he knew for certain Rudolph would be one of the ones pulling the trigger. He'd grin too, smug bastard. Bucky really of kind hated him.

The others were really beginning to worry, which, while annoying and slightly disconcerting, was also kind of nice. They were all in hell, and for as much as the five of them remained upbeat, Bucky knew he wasn't the only one who wasn't expecting to get out of there. It would have been easy to just shut off, to tune out everyone around them and focus on themselves. Easier than staying connected with the people around them and watching them die one by one. It would have been easy to shut him out the moment he got sick, because they all knew what he did; his days were numbered. But they didn't. They talked to him and joked with him, and he was pretty damn sure they were giving him extra food and water, and that meant more than Bucky ever would have expressed. Not only that, but he was pretty sure the four of them were currently planning an elaborate "accident" for Rudolph, who would probably kill him pretty soon, if given the opportunity. They weren't willing to let him get that opportunity though, and that was pretty touching too.

"How's he doing?" a voice from the pen over asked. Bucky rolled his head over to see a Japanese American looking at him in concern. When Bucky looked up, he asked him directly, all casual and upbeat, and fake as hell, because Bucky could see the tightness around his eyes, but he appreciated the sentient, "How's it going, Ace? Finished lying around yet?"

"What's it to you?" Bucky slurred, because he didn't know this guy from Adam. He hadn't been in their company, but in another platoon somewhere else, captured and brought in almost two weeks after his unit. The others clearly wanted to know that too, because he could feel them grouping around him protectively. Even Dernier who'd been a member of the Free French, and hadn't known him not too long ago.

The man shrugged. "Kensey is ours. You got your ribs cracked for him last week. That earns you a hell of a lot of loyalty in our group."

Bucky nodded because that made sense. He could understand and respect that. Anyone who'd ever stood up for Steve had been alright in his book too. "In that case, no I'm not finished lying around yet. Figure I got a hell of a lot more of it to do. Let you lazy jackasses handle the work for a little while."

"Sounds good to me, man. Been getting bored anyhow," he replied. "Jim Morita. Nice to meet you. You a sergeant?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "James Buchanan Barnes. Friends call me Bucky. Too many James' and Jims running around, you know?"

Falsworth snorted.

Morita looked amused, "The hell kind of a name is Bucky Barnes?"

"A damn good one," he shot back, instantly riled, just like he'd been as a kid.

Morita laughed and turned his attention to Falsworth, "Here," he said, passing something through the bars. "It's not much."

"It'll help," Falsworth replied. "Thanks, mate."

Morita just nodded and sat down.

"Up and at 'em, Sarge," Dugan said, grabbing him by the shoulders and heaving him up into a sitting position. The room spun and his head pounded.

"Your bedside manner is shit, Dugan," he grumbled peevishly.

"Sorry I'm not a pretty dame tending to ya," Dugan said amused.

Falsworth put the small bundle of leftover food in Bucky's lap. "Eat up, Sarge."

Bucky sighed dramatically, but he knew better than to argue so he ate the meager leftovers and made sure he got eye contact with Morita. "Thanks."

Morita nodded, "You rest up, Barnes," he said seriously.

Bucky nodded and closed his eyes.

He slept like the dead, but he didn't get better. Every day it was a little harder to keep up with the punishing work pace set by their jailors, and a little harder to hide his cough. His fever was growing, he felt dizzy and his lungs felt like wet bags that were too hard to properly inflate. The only bright spot was that the guys' plan was successful and Rudolph died very unfortunately in a freak accident on the factory floor. Bucky had grinned the rest of the day, managing to do his share of work, against all odds. But still, he wasn't getting better, and they all knew it.

"Come on, Sarge, up you come," Dugan said, hauling him up yet again two mornings after the accident. Bucky wanted to let out a long groan at the thought of another day on the factory floor, but he stood and pushed away from Dugan proving he could still stand on his own, despite the pneumonia and the fever. The others were more openly concerned now, which was good enough for Bucky to know he had a couple days at the most. Part of him thought it would be easier to be taken out and shot now. At least he'd be out of his misery.

They moved out of the pens and out onto the factory floor. Bucky was in a haze for most of the morning. A litany of "just keep moving, don't sit down, just keep going, keep breathing, in and out, breath, Barnes," ran circles around his brain. It took so much of his concentration just to keep moving that he didn't notice at first when a fight broke out, but when he did. Finally registering the yelling, his head jerked up and he pushed his way forward, through the others, the sudden urge of adrenaline helping him a bit.

"Fuck," he hissed furiously as he saw Hastings being pounded on by four guards. These dumb kid privates just kept trying to get themselves killed. And he would be killed, Bucky realized, as he watched them. They were probably still wound up from Rudolph's "accidental" death, and they were taking it out on the kid, who'd slipped up. Which, inadvertently kind of made it Bucky's fault. He couldn't let the kid die, he realized, and he started forwards immediately. Dugan grabbed his arms, snatching him back.

"No way, Barnes. They'll kill you," he said, firm and grim.

"They're going to kill _him_!" Bucky snapped, feeling a bit frantic, because they didn't have much time, and Dugan looked stone-faced and unmovable. He knew the man hated it. Under that bowler hat and stupid mustache, Dugan was a pretty decent man who hated bullies as much as the rest of them, but he was also a hard man when he had to be, and with those blue guns pointed at all of them, he knew the kid was going to die and he knew there was nothing they could do to stop it. He could accept it. Bucky couldn't.

"I'm a dead man walking anyway," Bucky said honestly, finally voicing what all of them had been thinking for days now. Dugan visibly flinched, but Bucky kept eye contact, boring his eyes into Dugan's "At least this way I choose how I go and I go down with the chance of saving someone else. Come on, Dum Dum. Let me have that," he said fiercely. "You gotta let me have that."

His hand tightened on Bucky's arm for a moment before his expression broke and he swore viciously. "Alright," he relented, looking grief stricken in a way that had Bucky wanting to swear too. "Alright."

"We'll cover you," Falsworth said softly and before he knew it they were all shouting, getting the attention of the other guards so that Bucky could slip through the guns. He grabbed the wrist of one of the guards who was about to land yet another blow with one of those god-forsaken sticks, and cleanly snapped it, snatching the stick out of his hand as he did so. The guard let out a cry of pain, but Bucky was already following through with a swing to the face. The guard fell and didn't get up.

Adrenaline was coursing through his veins, and he was pretty sure it was the only reason he wasn't falling to his knees in a dizzy, breathless haze, but Bucky didn't question it. If he was going to go down, he was going to make as many of those crazy nazi bastards as he could suffer first. He slammed the stick into another's gut and then slammed it into the side of his head. He went down too before the other two guards realized what was happening and abandoned Hastings for him. Hastings had enough good sense to drag himself away from the fight, and other soldiers clumped around him hiding him from view even as they cheered Bucky on. Bucky knocked another one out before he got a staggering blow to the head and the other guards rushed into subdue him. He fought them off as best he could, but he was out numbered and weak. Still, Hastings was hidden, and he'd done better than he expected.

Three guards held him and another was raising a gun when a cold voice cut through the air. "What is going on here?"

Bucky was dizzy and out of breath and he couldn't help the coughing that started wrenching from his lungs violently.

"Shut up," One of the guards barked angrily, jerking him. It just made the coughing worse though. He couldn't catch a breath, and black spots started speckling his vision. It took a moment, but after some more hacking he was finally able to take in some desperate, gasping breaths. Deep sympathy for Steve stirred within him. Pneumonia was the worst.

When his vision cleared Dr. Zola was standing before him, looking at him curiously behind his round glasses. Bucky jerked away when the little round man reached out a hand to touch his forehead, but one of the guards grabbed him by the back of the neck and forced his head down so Zola could reach. Bucky snarled behind gritted teeth, but his arms were locked in two different guards' grip, and the adrenaline was wearing off quickly, leaving him feeling like he wouldn't even be standing without their help.

The doctor's hand felt cold and clammy against his forehead and Bucky flinched away, but the grip on his neck tightened and the doctor moved his hand from his face to his neck then back to his face again as he checked his eyes.

"What's your name, sir?" Zola asked curiously.

Bucky's throat felt raw as he spoke belligerently, "Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes."

"Tell me, Sergeant, did you do that?" he asked curiously, nodding to the three guards on the ground. Two were shifting, starting to get up. One wasn't moving yet.

Bucky sniffed, "What of it?"

He was expecting anger. He was expecting to be shot with one of those blue guns then and there. He wasn't expecting for the little round man to smile and look genuinely pleased. Cold dread pooled in his gut at that look, and Bucky suddenly felt like he was facing down a fate so much worse than the strange, blue gun. "Well, Sergeant Barnes, I think you are just the subject I've been looking for." His attention turned towards the guards. "Take him to my lab. I don't want any more harm to come to him in the meantime, gentlemen. Deliver him safe and sound."

"What?! No!" he heard Dugan's voice shout angrily as the guards acquiesced, if only because the fate waiting for him in Zola's lab was worse than just being shot and killed. He might live a little longer, but no one came back from Zola's lab, and being killed would be a mercy in comparison. "Sarge!" Dugan shouted, sounding panicked, and Bucky was just barely conscious enough to hear the sounds of a struggle break out. "Sarge! _Barnes_!"

The bottom dropped out from beneath him, and Bucky stopped trying to even hold his head up. He was too damn tired, and now the world wouldn't even let him die in peace. He was just so tired; all he wanted to do was sleep. He let his body go limp, too tired and too sick to fight anymore.

He was unconscious before they even made it to the lab.

He woke up some time later, strapped down to a metal table, cold and shivering. His eyes were blurry but he could just make out white lab coats and strange looking machines. A sort of muted terror coursed through his veins, but his mind was too fuzzy for the sharp stab of fear to really hit home. A little round man in a white lab coat and round glasses moved further into his line of vision, and Bucky struggled to focus his eyes on him. When he finally managed it, he realized the little man was holding a needle up and smiling. Bucky started shifting away weakly.

"Relax, Sergeant," the round man's voice soothed. "We haven't even begun yet. We need you healthy first." There was a sharp pinch at the side of his neck and Bucky blinked dazedly before his vision was washed out in black once more.

The next time he came to he was in a small concrete cell. He picked his head up, looked around, got dizzy, shut his eyes and went back to sleep. Twice more he woke up on the lab table to Zola repeating questions that he could hardly process.

"Huh?" he asked dazedly.

"Your breathing, soldier. Is it any easier?" Zola repeatedly patiently.

"I—" he struggled to think through the question. "I—maybe?"

"How is your head?"

"Hurts."

"Your throat?"

"Hurts."

"Another injection then. Don't worry, Sergeant. You're well on your way to recovery and we'll be able to start our work soon."

Bucky was fairly certain he didn't want to start anything soon, but the thought didn't seem to matter to Zola. Another pinch at his neck and then Bucky was asleep again.

Later, when he was lucid again, he had no idea how long it had gone on, whether he'd been in and out of consciousness for a day or a week, but eventually when he woke up again on that lab table, he was lucid. Which meant the panicking was actually able to break through to his conscious mind, instead of being a muted thing, just on the periphery of his attention. He tried to move, only to find he could barely do so, and that just made the panic grow. His heart was pounding in his ears as he lifted his head up only to see thick straps binding him to the table. He shifted and pulled, but the restraints were tight across his chest, arms and legs and offered no give.

"Ah, good morning, Sergeant," Zola moved forward and smiled down at him. "Am I correct in thinking you're feeling much more like yourself?"

"What are you doing?" he demanded, ignoring the question, even as he tried to shift away from Zola and the disturbing way in which the man was regarding him like he was an unopened Christmas present.

Zola smiled excitedly, pulling on a pair of laytex gloves in a way that had Bucky's stomach dropping in dread, "Science, Sergeant Barnes. Science. Let's start by taking some samples, hmm? I'm afraid this might not be entirely pleasant for you, but try to think of it in terms of the contribution you are making to the scientific community. That might make it easier."

"Fuck that," Bucky said, staring at the little man in disbelief as he picked up what had to be the biggest needle Bucky had seen in his life, from the table next to Bucky's head. The thing could probably pierce a skull.

Zola shrugged, not offended. "It was just a suggestion. In any case, find something to cope with and hold onto it." His eyes turned to the other scientists in the room. "Let's start with the bone marrow and move on from there." That at least explained the size of the needle, and Bucky yelled curses at them as they jabbed it into his hip. It would turn out to be one of the least terrible things they did to him.

Things just got worse for Bucky after those initial tests, and all the sessions began to bleed together. Most of the time, he had no idea how much time passed when he was on the table. Hell, he had no idea how much time passed when he was off the table, as he was often delirious and in no state to even think, let alone move. Every now and then he was taken out of his cell and allowed a brief shower and shave, before being dragged back to the lab and forced onto the table, but he couldn't figure out any sort of rhythm or frequency to it, and time remained an unsolvable puzzle. He'd lie there on that table, unable to move, dread running through his veins, unable to do anything but wait and pray time moved slowly, so he'd have more time before they came. Sometimes he'd wake up in his cell, uncertain whether or not the experience he'd just been living had been a dream, or if it had actually happened to him. Sometimes he'd wake up on the table, realizing he'd only died in his dream, that there was no peace waiting for him when he got off. Other times he'd wake up on the table thinking he _had_ died and he'd gone to hell. That's what it was like though; he'd wake up on the table, no memory of how he got there. He'd wake up in his cell, no memory of being dragged back after Zola finished with him for the day. He'd wake up one of the two places with no idea how or when he'd gotten there and how much time had passed since he'd been there last, and that made it absolutely impossible to get his bearings on what was happening, on what was being done to him.

Honestly, when they took him, Bucky had thought they were going to interrogate him. Looking back on it, it was stupid, because Zola had taken privates from the pens before, and what useful knowledge would a green private have towards the war effort? Still, Bucky had just shrugged it off and figured maybe they were going for variety. In any case, when Zola had picked him out on the factory floor, he'd been prepared for torture and interrogation. The prospect had been unpleasant, yes, but he'd contented himself with the fact he'd probably be dead before they managed to break him and if not, he didn't know anything particularly valuable anyway. He'd been as prepared for it as anyone could be. This though, while undoubtedly torture, was certainly not interrogation. He hadn't been asked a single question about the allied forces, their command structures, strategies, or anything like that. No, he'd been asked questions about his body; how was he feeling; in the past, how long had it taken a broken bone to heal; did he have any medical conditions before joining the army.

He had no idea what they wanted from him, and none of the questions seemed particularly dangerous, but Bucky didn't know their endgame, and he refused to answer on principle. It was possible that this was all some sort of elaborate trap to get him talking. He doubted it, but he wasn't willing to take the chance. And damn it all if he'd be cooperative with the bastards when they weren't even offering to lessen the torture.

Bucky blinked and turned his head, trying to shield his currently very sensitive eyes from the harsh light glaring down at him. They'd already taken several samples, bled him a bit, and injected him with something that was making the lights harsh and his head fuzzy, but he knew from experience they were far from done.

"The cellular regeneration rate seems to have increased, but it's a minute change," a voice faded into his awareness from somewhere to his left, and Bucky frowned at the rather echoed quality of it.

"Hm," another voice, the one he dreaded, postulated. It, too, had the curious echo effect. "Tell me, Sergeant, how are you feeling now?"

A not entirely lucid groan escaped his lips. It was an automatic response; one he hadn't meant to make. If he'd decided to respond, it would have been something closer to "Fuck you."

"I need you to describe what you're feeling, Sergeant," the voice said again, sterner this time, and in his slightly muddled state, he had to fight the instinct not to flinch. He'd had enough time to learn that pain usually accompanied that tone.

Bucky decided that, as usual, he wanted to be as difficult as possible and drew on every reserve of strength he had to reply rather belligerently, "Sergeant Barnes, James Buchanan. 32557830. Sergeant Barnes, James Buchanan 32557830." His own voice had the echo quality as well, and wasn't that just curious?

"This is getting tedious, Sergeant Barnes," Zola declared, sounding annoyed, and therefore dangerous. "If you don't speak to us willingly, we'll have to persuade you with one of our special machines here."

Bucky struggled to open his eyes against the harsh lights. He blinked against the pain and made sure he had eye contact with the doctor. When he spoke, he did so very deliberately, though a bit hoarse. "Sergeant Barnes, James Buchanan. 32557830."

The doctor sighed and waved at one of the scientists. "Hook him up."

Bucky frowned as two of the scientists moved forward on either side, bearing things that looked like electrodes with fishing hooks attached. He could do nothing to stop the hands that came down on him, and that was probably the worst part of all of this. The helplessness and utter inability to defend himself. Though, to be fair, the fish hooks they were digging into his chest and arms were pretty awful too.

"One more chance, Sergeant. Tell me; how are you feeling right now?"

"Sergeant Bar—" he didn't get to finish for the scream that was torn from his throat. Electric fire was the only thing he knew for some time after that.

He was barely conscious as he was dragged back to his small cell, and he spent the next who knew how long in a trembling heap in the middle of the floor. Cold sweat poured from his body, soaking his clothes through, making him even colder in the small cement room. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander in his misery, taking care that it did not wander too close to home. No thoughts of Steve. No thoughts of New York. He just couldn't let himself. The despair was too real when he did. Instead, he thought of the pens. About Dugan and Jones and Monty and Dernier. He wondered if Hastings had made out alright. He wondered if Adams was still alive. He wondered if Morita was taking care of Kensey, keeping him out of trouble.

He did not wonder about Steve or his family.

Sometimes he woke up on the table with the distinct and terrifying feeling that he had been there for a long time. He'd be attached to machines and fluid would be steadily dripping into his body, and his legs and arms and muscles would ache because he hadn't moved them in far too long. Zola was usually there when he awoke, smiling at him like he was pleased to see him again after some time. "Ah, nice to have you back again, Sergeant. I'd almost forgotten your military identification number. How are you feeling?"

His responses varied. Sometimes he'd grind out a dry, rasping, "Like shit." Sometimes a "Fuck you." Sometimes a "Sergeant, James Buchanan. 32557830." Sometimes he'd admit, "Thirsty," because there was a pretty good chance the doctor would offer him a small cup of water and he just wasn't in the mood to be hooked to the electric machine on top of everything else. This was one of those times.

"Thirsty," his voice croaked, and man was his mouth dry. Felt like he'd swallowed a bottle full of dust. His tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth and there was not enough saliva to wet his dry and cracked lips.

A hand reached towards his head and he had to struggle not to flinch away as it reached under his neck, lifting his head up a little. Bucky greatly resented the position he was in as Zola held his head and held a cup of water to his lips, letting him drink slowly. He couldn't afford to be picky though so he swallowed every last drop of water without so much as a glare in Zola's direction until the cup was empty and the hands were off him once more. Only then did he give Zola a glare before letting his eyes flutter shut. It felt like he'd been out for ages, but he was _so tired_. A slight but painful shock coursed through him, jolting his eyes open. He hadn't even realized he was hooked up to the machine.

"Not today, Sergeant. I need your feedback," Zola spoke lightly.

"You know what I'm going to say. Why are you wasting my time?" he asked, grumpy and hoarse.

Zola looked amused which never bode well for him. "I've been making the most of my time while you've been sleeping off the last injection, and I believe you will be more cooperative from here on out."

"And why's that?" he rasped.

"Your friends, Sergeant. If you are difficult, they'll be denied their rations."

Bucky shook his head on the table. "You need them to work."

"Yes, so if any of them fall behind because they are weak with hunger they will be severely punished, and you will be the one to blame."

Bucky glared at the doctor appraisingly, trying to gauge his willingness to carry out the threat. He didn't like what he saw.

The doctor must have seen the defeat in his eyes because he smiled, "Now let's try again, how are you feeling?"

"Like shit. You're going to have to be more specific than that," he spat grumpily.

Zola smiled, "Are you feeling any strange sensations through your body? Anything unusual? Remember; your friends need their strength."

If it were anything about the allied forces, anything like that, Bucky would let his pals go hungry and not feel guilty about it. But in all the hell and torture, he hadn't once been asked what he knew about the allies' movements, and from the way the doctor's eyes were lit up at the prospect of information from Bucky's _body_ , he doubted those questions would come up anytime soon. He didn't exactly want to further the doctor's studies, but he didn't think it was worth the others' suffering. "Cold," he finally said. "Ice cold. Can't feel my fingertips."

"Interesting," Zola remarked, making a note on his clipboard. "Anything else?" he asked eagerly.

"Bones ache," Bucky grumbled out.

Zola made a thoughtful noise and then brandished a needle. "Now, Sergeant, I want you to pay extra special attention to this one and tell me everything you feel, okay? It's exceedingly important."

Panic was already bubbling up in Bucky's chest though, and he struggled uselessly against the restraints. Forceful hands grabbed his head and wrenched it to the side so Zola was able jab the needle in his neck. He felt the liquid go into him like fire, and it was barely a minute before he was screaming. But that wasn't good enough for Zola. He wanted hard data. Screaming in agony only told so much, but the only thing Bucky could process was pain.

His voice gave out long before the pain stopped, and when his vision finally stopped being bright white and the pain faded to something a little more manageable, he realized he was drenched and shaking hard, and everything in him just _ached_. In that moment, Bucky just wanted to be dead. He could have sobbed from the unfairness of being alive at all. He'd been ready for death before he'd been dragged off to Zola's lab, and now he was unfairly being kept alive and in agony. He was aware of the tears slowly leaking out the sides of his eyes, but he didn't care at all. He felt no shame. There was no room for that with the agony, exhaustion and despair.

"I have to say I'm disappointed, Sergeant," Zola spoke. "But I suppose one day without rations won't kill them. I expect you'll do better next time."

He flinched as the restraints were pulled away. Hands grabbed at him hauling him off the table. He tried to pull away, because damn, did it hurt, but he could barely stand up and their grip was too tight. Halfway back to his cell he gave up on walking and let himself be dragged. They dropped him unceremoniously onto the concrete floor where he curled into a ball and began to tremble from the pain, the injections, and the cold. The guards retreated without a word and the door slammed shut. Bucky surrendered to his misery.

" _Come on, Sergeant Barnes, are you with us_?" a voice filtered in thickly through his haze of pain. His eyes felt hot and dry and he tried to blink away the gritty feeling. Dr. Zola's face came into focus. "There you are, Sergeant," he smiled proudly.

Bucky shut his eyes and rolled his head away, desperately wishing he hadn't woken up. Someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head back towards Zola. "Today is a special day, Sergeant. You have officially outlasted any other subject before you. We must celebrate."

"Does that mean you're going to give me a break?" he croaked weakly.

Zola just smiled and started digging the electrodes into his body, "We will celebrate by testing a new chemical. How does that sound, hm?"

"Like you're a real bastard," Bucky managed.

Zola smiled and patted his cheek. "This is what I was hoping for when I chose you. I saw this resilience in you when you got the better of three guards while suffering pneumonia. Your strength is what I value in you, dear Sergeant."

Bucky closed his eyes because he really just did not care. Whatever Zola had done last time had worked a real number on him, and it didn't matter that he hadn't been awake since he was last on the table. He was still so exhausted.

An electric shock coursed through his body, jolting him back to awareness. "Not yet, Sergeant," Zola chided him. He jerked at the familiar pinch at his neck, and tried to move, but it was too late. His reality immediately began to distort.

"No," he mumbled squeezing his eyes shut, hoping to block out the inevitable hallucinations. "No, no."

"How do you feel, Sergeant Barnes?"

"Sergeant Barnes, James Buchanan," he choked, but was cut off at the electric shock.

"We've talked about this, Sergeant; your men need to eat. How do you feel?"

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, "D-dizzy."

"What else?"

"Fuzzy."

"Very good," Zola remarked. "Prepare the next injection."

He jerked at the sudden, unexpected pinch at his neck but then ice was suddenly running through his veins. He gasped at the sudden sharpness of it.

"And how do you feel now?" Zola asked patiently.

Bucky couldn't answer; he was so distracted by the ferocity of the cold. Not for the first time he feared what Zola was doing to him—what he was trying to turn him into. What was the point? What if he succeeded? The thoughts made him sick, but the cold was all encompassing, quickly drowning out his every thought.

He awoke in his cell with gasp, shivering violently. Again, he had no idea how long it'd been.

Before long, that lab, that table, became his world, in a way. He became so consumed that he could almost no longer remember who he was before Zola, which was honestly just as terrifying as Zola's machines. He'd taken even more to repeating his name, rank and serial number, just so he'd know for sure; so he could be certain he was a person and not a thing. He was a person, even if he was treated like a science project, even if no person should ever have done to them the things he'd experienced. _He was a_ ** _person._**

He'd woken up on the table again, feeling again like he'd lost several days of time. It couldn't have been too long though, because his face hadn't had time to grow a beard or someone had seen fit to shave him. He grimaced at the thought as he tried to lift a hand to see whether he was clean shaven or not. Of course, his hands were firmly secured.

"Good morning, Sergeant. How do you feel?" Zola asked him.

Bucky blinked. He felt awful, like usual, but he felt empty almost as well. More wrung out. Like this time, he'd almost not come back from whatever brink Zola had pushed him to. Like he'd been yanked back from the brink of death against his will. He'd been cheated. Death had been cheated. God, he was so _tired_. Bone tired and ready to give in . . . except what was giving in in the situation? It wasn't death. He'd been wanting that for a few a while now, so giving up meant what, then? Accepting his fate as a science experiment? Accepting that he was nothing more than a thing to be studied and tested? Was he supposed to stop fighting it and forget he was a human being?

Something in him kicked and screamed at the thought, but it was too quiet and distant to give him any comfort. He tried to focus on it, to fan the flame, make it stronger and bring back the outrage and indignation he knew he should be feeling. But again, he was just so tired.

His eyes closed.

"Your last round of injections went very well. Of course, it was a risk, but you pulled through even better than we expected. You make a fine subject. So today we will test the changes, starting with pain tolerance," he said lightly.

His eyes snapped open. Zola's words were enough to spark the anger within him, fanning the distant embers into a real flame once again. "I'm glad gambling with my life paid off for you," he spat.

Zola just smiled and turned his attention back to his fellow scientists. Bucky indulged himself with the mental image of driving a scalpel into the man's eye. Angrily he jerked at the restraints as they hooked the electrodes under his skin. It always hurt, but that was nothing compared to when they turned the machine on, and Bucky could feel his heart rate kick up in fear as they got the machine ready.

"Last time the Sergeant made it to seven? Let's see how long he can last this time. Maybe he'll even make it to nine today."

"Go to he—" he was cut off by his own scream. They did a full work up, which meant he spent ten hours on the table before they finally left him. They left him on the table though, something he was only vaguely aware of, because he'd been pulled out of his own mind by pain and drugs. He'd spent a large portion of the afternoon hallucinating out of his mind. The repetitions of his name, rank and number helped ground him a bit for those as well. Or so he thought until he heard Steve's voice in the lab.

"Bucky? Oh my god," the horror in his voice was new to the Steve hallucinations. New enough to make him doubt.

"Wha—who's there?" he croaked.

"It's me. It's Steve," the voice assured him.

"Steve?" He couldn't help it. He smiled drunkenly as Steve's face came into view. "Steve."

"Yeah, I'm right here, pal," Steve's soothing voice fluttered through him as he felt his restraints being ripped off. That was new too.

"Come on; let's get you off of there," Steve said, pulling him up and onto his feet. His bones and muscles protested and when he was up Steve was much taller than he should be.

Steve looked desperate and painfully earnest as he spoke thickly, "I thought you were dead."

Bucky looked him up and down in confusion, because even in a hallucination, this had never happened. "… I thought you were smaller."

Steve laughed and choked back tears as he clapped Bucky gently on the side of his face, like he was reassuring himself that Bucky was real and alive, which was crazy because Steve was the hallucination, not Bucky.

"Come on, Buck. We gotta go."

Bucky blinked as he struggled to control his legs. Steve grabbed his arm and swung it over his ridiculously broad shoulders. Steve felt real and solid underneath it as he began to move Bucky out of the lab. His legs were stumbling along, late and unable to catch up to Steve's, and that was the first time in his life it wasn't the other way around. It was just so bizarre and so surreal, but man was this just the most realistic feeling hallucination he'd ever had.

"Fuck, Steve," he choked out, unable to get a handle on it. "I think I finally cracked," it was said mostly to himself, because despite the fact it felt real, talking to a hallucination was never a good idea. "Hallucinating you coming to save my sorry ass." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. Finally cracked."

"You're not hallucinating, Buck," Steve assured him. "Does this feel real?"

Big Steve had a point. Bucky could feel himself being dragged along. Frowning a bit, he swung an arm up to pat Steve's face and shoulder. Felt real enough. "… You real, Stevie?"

Steve sounded a little choked again as he replied, "Yeah, I'm real."

"Fuck," Bucky swore. "What happened to you?"

"I joined the army," Steve replied, chipper.

"Bullshit. What happened?" Bucky snapped. Because Steve was supposed to be home and _safe_. And now he was infiltrating hell on earth? A foot and a half and a hundred pounds extra? Bucky felt inexplicably furious, and as Steve told him the story, that fury only grew.

"You signed up for it?" he snapped angrily. "You mean you _willingly_ signed up for what they were trying to—" he cut himself off abruptly before he could finish the "do to me" but it must have been obvious, because Steve faltered and said in _that_ voice, "Buck."

"Did it hurt?" he snapped, pulling away so he was stumbling along beside Steve on his own power. Did it hurt, because it sure as hell hurt me. That one was probably obvious too.

"A little," Steve said lightly, which in Steve speak was a resounding, "Like hell."

"Is it permanent?"

"So far."

"Can't stay out of fucking trouble for nothing, I swear," Bucky swore angrily.

"Yeah, just be glad I'm here to save your ass," Steve snarked. The little shit.

He was mad, but he was _beat_ , and there was no energy to sustain that anger, especially with Schmidt and Zola ahead of them. Zola had none of the bravado he had in his lab, yet that didn't keep any of the sickening fear from his gut. What he wouldn't do to have a gun in his hand. He'd end Zola then and there. Save himself a few nightmares, he was sure. Then Schmidt did the whole face thing and even that line of thinking was quickly snuffed out.

"You don't have one of those, do you?"

Then fire and Steve and he was in the middle of an adrenaline crash when they reached the others, and part of him was still very convinced that this as all some sort of drug induced dream.

"Holy shit!" a very familiar voice exclaimed. "Sarge!"

And suddenly he was surrounded by his pen mates and Morita. "We thought you were dead" Someone exclaimed and when Dugan's large, meaty hand clapped him on the shoulder, Bucky's knees buckled under him.

"Whoa! Easy, Sarge," Someone said, as several hands caught him. He struggled to regain his footing as someone helped pull him fully upright once more.

"Bucky! Hey, you alright?" Steve asked in a panic, suddenly right there, taking Bucky's weight. Bucky tried ineffectually to shove off of him and stand on his own once more. Steve was having none of it.

"'M fine, Steve. Dum's just a monster, that's all," he grumbled amicably, but no one really bought it.

"You are one stubborn son of a bitch, Barnes," Dum Dum exclaimed cheerfully. The beast of a man was practically giddy, and it was a rather disturbing sight. "And damn near impossible to kill! We thought you were dead!"

"Yeah, yeah. We can talk about my shitty luck later. We should probably get a move on in the meantime, huh?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, come on. Let's get you onto one of the truck's we've commandeered.

Bucky pulled away immediately. "No way. I'm walking. Can't watch your own back for nothing, Steve. Someone get me a rifle," he declared, all authority.

"Buck," Steve protested.

"No," he said firmly. "Rifle. Now."

Steve let out a frustrated sound and snapped, "Fine. But if you start stumbling, you're going into a truck."

"Yeah, sure," Bucky agreed, not meaning it a bit. Jones handed him a rifle with a soft, "Here, Sarge."

Bucky felt more whole and real with the comforting weight of it in his arms, and if that didn't speak to how much the war had screwed him up, he didn't know what did.

They made it about ten miles before Steve decided they could rest for a few hours with some campfires. The sky to the East was lightening, but it was cold and the men had worked the factory floor fourteen hours that day already, and Bucky wasn't the only one stumbling at the end of their hike. They set up a watch, and Steve made sure there were no immediate needs before he came back to their little fire. He came back to an argument.

"I'm not an invalid! I can take a watch. You guys worked all day and fought then marched. I didn't," Bucky was arguing.

"You didn't because you were busy being worked _over_ ," Morita remarked. He'd made himself at home in their group it seemed. Not that Bucky minded. Dugan needed someone to go toe to toe with. But at the moment, they were teaming up on him so he was feeling a lot less charitable.

"Sarge, you have blood draining from your ears. Sit down, shut up, and lose the sweater so I can check on you."

Bucky rolled his eyes, "And what are you going to do, Gabe? I don't see any medical supplies lying about."

Jones held up a first aid kit. "Found it on a truck."

Bucky scowled, realizing his own defeat, "Shit."

"Sit," Jones said firmly, gesturing to a log behind the fire.

"Don't order me around. I outrank all of you," he declared, frustrated.

"And I outrank you," Steve said cheerfully, stepping fully into their circle. "Sit, Bucky. Let Jones check you out."

Bucky looked ready to argue, but Steve put _that_ look on his face, and he immediately whined, "Steve."

"No," Steve cut him off. "Sit."

Bucky gave him a mutinous look but sat stiffly on the log, muttering under his breath. "Running around behind enemy lines, wearing a giant damn American flag. Can't believe someone made your stupid, stubborn ass Captain. What the hell." Then louder he snapped, "Who the hell goes on an infiltration mission with an American flag on their chest anyway, Steve? It's like you got a death wish or something. Who the hell even let you out in that?"

Steve grinned, amused. "Hey, this giant damn American flag saved your sorry ass single handedly, so I'd stop complaining."

"Shirt off," Jones said, moving over by him with the first aid kit.

Bucky stiffly peeled off the sweater and there was an immediate chorus of swearing.

"Bucky," Steve sounded like he'd been shot in the gut and Bucky _hated it_. He'd lost weight, but other than that, he really only had the bloodied bruise on his neck from the injections and then the spots on his chest and arms where they dug in the electrodes, then the spot where the iv had been on his arm. Bucky thought they were probably over reacting a bit.

"We heard the guards say they were doing human experimentation in the isolation ward," Monty said. It was a question and the others were waiting for an answer.

"Well they certainly weren't questioning me about the allied forces," he said darkly. That was the only answer anyone was getting from him.

Jones cleaned the bloodied bruises from the electrodes and the spot on his arm and neck efficiently. There weren't a lot of bandages and Jones didn't want to waste them. When he was finished with the last spot, Bucky reached for his sweater, but Jones stopped him. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to a spot just under his left side ribs. Bucky looked down to see a bandage striped with red he hadn't even known was there, though he supposed it explained the steady ache and burn.

Bucky shrugged, "Don't know."

Dugan snapped angrily, "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know," he relied simply. "They weren't exactly accommodating enough to tell me what they were doing to me, and it's not like I've exactly been myself either, if you know what I mean." He grabbed the edges of the bandage and carefully pulled it back, only to reveal a three inch long, carefully stitched line. Bucky stared at it blankly, casting about in his head for how it got there. The mental images hit him like a truck. Zola in surgical gear, standing over him with a scalpel, the bite guard in his mouth, the inability to move even a fraction of an inch or even scream as some paralytic drug coursed through his body. He recoiled and immediately swore. He'd thought it'd been a dream.

"What?" Steve asked him quietly.

"I remember," he said darkly, moving his slightly shaky hands away so Jones could clean it and bandage it back up.

Of course it was Dugan who asked the question because Dugan didn't give a flying fuck about boundaries and respecting them when he felt something needed to be said or done, which was pretty much all the time. "You saying you were awake for that, Jimmy?"

Bucky snorted, full of dark, twisted amusement, "Not for long." He lasted through the initial, excruciating slice of the scalpel, but all bets were off when Zola stuck his gloved hand inside of him. Bucky's eyes had rolled back in his head and he'd woken up in his cell, hurting so bad all over, he hadn't even realized it had actually happened, and not been just another of his drug induced nightmares.

There was another chorus of swears as the boys picked up on what Bucky wasn't saying—on what Bucky would never say. They all looked a bit grim faced, but they'd seen horrors of war already, and they'd had an idea of what was going on in the Isolation Ward before Bucky was taken. Steve though was looking rather beside himself in that kicked puppy way he had that was surprisingly even more effective now that he was a great big lug.

Bucky sighed and moved a bit so that his shoulder was touching Steve's giant, hulking shoulder. His giant, hulking _furnace_ of a shoulder. "Damn, Steve!" he exclaimed, sidling closer so his whole right side was pressed into Steve's left, even though Steve's right ear had perfect hearing now. Old habits, he supposed. Steve's brow shot to his hairline and he moved back a little as Bucky pressed into him. "You're a fucking furnace. Stop moving; I'm cold. Might as well put you to some actual use, huh?" he joked.

Steve heaved a put upon sigh but stopped moving away once he realized what Bucky was doing. "You mean other than single handedly saving your ass?"

"You gonna keep using that against me? Cause if we're keeping score let the record show I've saved your sorry life literally dozens of times now," he joked, bringing an indignant look to Steve's face, thoroughly banishing the kicked puppy.

"I've saved your ass plenty of times too, Buck," he protested. "Saved you from your own mother even, and she's scarier than Schmidt."

Bucky snorted his amusement, but stopped abruptly as it pulled the sore muscles in his abdomen. The others had taken Bucky's cue and were now laughing and joking amongst themselves.

"So tell us, Rogers," Jones asked, smiling at them. "Was Sarge always this much of a pain in the ass."

" _Always_ ," Steve replied immediately and without remorse.

Buck shot him a look. "Really? You're going to sit there and tell me _I'm_ the pain in the ass here?" Steve gave an innocent shrug; a silent _I have no idea what you're talking about_. Bucky just shook his head. "You haven't met a real pain in the ass till you've met Steve Rogers," he declared. "Trust me; you'll see what I mean by the time we make it back to base. None of you will call me the pain in the ass again."

They laughed. "Yeah we'll see, Sarge."

Bucky dropped down to the ground in front of the log and Steve followed suit, staying close as Bucky stretched himself out before the fire, pressing his head into Steve's side with no shame. He'd slept on Dugan and Jones over the past year, at least once, and he'd had both passed out on him as well. Monty was a cold, British bastard, but he'd warmed up enough to sleep back to back and shoulder to shoulder. Dernier would _cuddle_ anyone who'd let him. He didn't know about Morita, but he didn't care if the man thought to give him crap on it.

"You alright, Bucky?" Steve asked quietly, and Bucky could _feel_ the concern he was radiating.

He gave a sigh, because at this point, he honestly didn't even know. He was out and that was great. But he still felt fuzzy and his entire body ached and trembled without his permission, and he knew Steve could see it, that all of them could see it. And his mind was reeling because Steve was here. Steve was here and a super soldier at that, which was the best and worst thing that could ever happen to Steve. Because Steve now had a body to match his heart and he would no longer be at risk for dropping dead because of some illness at any time of day. But conversely, he now had a body to match his heart and one that could keep up with all the trouble Steve got himself into. He wouldn't be leaving the war anytime soon. Bucky knew that in his core more than he knew his own name. Steve wasn't leaving. That meant Bucky wasn't leaving either. He couldn't go home and let Steve stay and fight. He couldn't let Steve fight when he wasn't there at his side. And that was just the worst, because he'd been cut open and ripped apart from the inside out, and all he wanted to do was go home. Go home and be free and safe with Steve, and that wasn't going to happen—might never happen, and he was _so_ aware of that it hurt.

"I'll be fine, Steve," he whispered. "I just—it was . . . I'll be fine soon, okay?" His voice might of hitched just a little, and damn it all, because he didn't even care.

Steve's voice was thick as he replied, "Yeah, Buck. Take your time. Just relax for now. You're safe, okay Buck? You're not there anymore. You're safe."

"Alright. And I'm not done yelling at you for being the stupidest idiot in all of Brooklyn though, just so you know."

Steve snorted, "Looking forward to it."

Louder, Bucky said. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up for my watch."

"Sure thing, Sarge," someone said as he closed his eyes. He didn't hear the sarcasm or see the rolled eyes.

They didn't wake him up in the night. They tried, but only because he had some sort of fit. They had been planning to let him sleep, but at some point he had something like a seizure when Monty was on watch.

"Jones! Get up! Something's happening to Barnes!"

Jones was up quickly and dashed over to Bucky's side where all of his muscles had seized up, and he was shaking and convulsing. "Go get the Captain!" he snapped.

The others were awake quickly and one of them dashed off to find Captain America from where he was patrolling the perimeter.

Steve was there quickly, "What's wrong with him?!" he demanded quickly rushing over to Bucky's side. The others moved back to allow him room before gathering around once more. Jones had rolled Bucky on his side and he was holding onto him to keep him from swallowing his tongue or doing any serious damaged.

"I think he's having a seizure," Jones replied. "How was he when you found him?"

"On a damn operating table, strapped down, and hallucinating," Steve replied readily.

"Then they did work on him today?"

"Definitely."

"There's no telling what they did to him," Jones said. "There could be a dozen reasons for this."

"But will he be okay?" Steve asked, the panic in his voice completely evident.

"He's young. A seizure shouldn't cause too much harm," Jones said. "He's strong. They had him in there for weeks and he's still alive. They wanted him alive. That's pretty much all we have at this point," Jones said.

Steve grit his teeth, but thankfully Bucky's muscles finally loosened a bit and he stopped shaking. "Bucky? Buck, can you hear me?"

He didn't wake up.

"Bucky, come on. Wake up, Buck. You can do it." Steve urged, but Bucky didn't move, even as Jones checked his pulse and lifted up his eye lids.

"He's unconscious, but his heartbeat is steady and so is his breathing. I have no idea how long he'll be out for though. His body probably just needs to rest that badly."

"Will he be alright?" Steve asked again, trying not to sound too desperate.

Jones shrugged, "I think. I mean, obviously, it'll be much better to have an actual doctor look him over, but the things that happened to him, I mean I wouldn't be surprised if he sleeps a couple of days, Cap."

Steve nodded grimly then gently hoisted Bucky up in his arms. "Let's find some room on a truck. We need to get moving soon anyway."

Monty moved ahead to make some room on one of the trucks and the rest of Bucky's pals gathered around, like they were guarding him. Steve wasn't quite sure the specifics as to _how_ Bucky had earned their devotion, but he wasn't the slightest bit surprised that he had. Bucky was a great guy. It had always surprised Steve that there weren't more people as devoted to Bucky as he was, that more people didn't see just how _good_ Bucky was.

He laid Bucky down gently in the truck before quickly shrugging out of his jacket and draping it on Bucky. "Rest up, Buck. If you die, I'll kick your ass. I mean it," he warned quietly, before stepping back. He turned to see the others waiting there.

"What are your orders, Captain?" Falsworth spoke.

Steve stood a little straighter, willing himself to focus on the task at hand and not on Bucky. "We need to get a move on. The food we managed to salvage from the base isn't going to last us long with the number we got, so we'll send a scouting party ahead. There's an abandoned village just a few miles up, they can check out. You know anyone up for the job?"

"I got some guys," Morita declared.

Steve nodded, "Good. Let's get moving."

Steve had a hard time not glancing back at Bucky's truck every two minutes until he realized Dernier had separated from the group and was walking vigil next to the truck. The others were just at Steve's back, showing their support, and as Steve met Dernier's eye and the Frenchman nodded solemnly, he knew the others had already decided to take turns watching the truck.

Steve finally felt a little ease as he lead the company through the woods. "Thank you," he told them calmly. "For having Bucky's back. He's the only family I got left and it means everything to me."

Jones spoke cheerfully, because they'd had enough somber, and he wouldn't participate anymore when he was still so happy that Barnes was even still alive, "So you're the punk kid brother Sarge was always going on about, huh? Not gonna lie, he described you a bit shorter."

Steve snorted, "I was until a few months ago." He then gave them the brief version of the story.

"So how long have you known Jimmy?" Dugan asked casually.

"Since we were six. Bucky's saved my backside more than I can count at this point," Steve admitted. "I couldn't just stay behind and not do the same. Then when they told me what'd happened . . ." Steve trailed off.

"You volunteer for this assignment then?" he asked.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, "Uh . . . you could say that."

Morita frowned, "What's that supposed to mean, 'you could say that'?"

"Well," Steve began but Dugan cut him off.

"Exactly how long after you heard about Jimmy before you decided to go AWOL and infiltrate a heavily fortified enemy base on your own?"

The others looked surprised, but Steve just looked a little sheepish. "I don't think I even thought about it," he admitted. "Just did it."

Dugan snorted and shook his head as the others let out low whistles. "He's gonna skin you."

Steve nodded cheerfully, "I know."

"Well I guess we know where Sarge gets it from," Jones replied amicably.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"Jimmy got himself on the wrong side of a beat down a few times before the isolation ward," Dugan remarked. "And not just a bit of slapping around either. Full on, bones ready to break beating. Every damn time, it was because he moved in to take the beating for some clueless punk kid that got themselves in trouble."

Steve sucked in a breath, but nodded. "Yeah. That's Bucky," he said quietly. "How'd he end up in the isolation ward?" he asked. The others exchanged looks and Steve pushed. "Tell me. Please. He's all I got. I gotta know."

Falsworth let out a huge sigh, and Dugan spoke, "Kid was dying. He'd saved this private's life, but the beating was bad, and he still had to go out and work the factory floor when he had cracked a rib. Kid didn't even complain, but in those conditions, it was less than a week before he started coughing and the pneumonia set in. We were doing all we could, keeping him out of the line of fire, we took out the guard that had the biggest beef with him, gave him extra food, made him sleep through his watch. But he had days at the most."

They were still moving, but Steve was tense and stiff as they walked, his hands repeatedly clenching into fists as he pictured it all in his mind.

"One day, out on the floor, this kid gets into trouble. Just some nineteen year old private—unluckiest son of a gun to ever get drafted, you know? He messes something up and the guards were still worked up over the "accident" we orchestrated to get rid Rudolph, and they just lit into him while the others kept us back at gunpoint. Four on one, beating this kid. They were going to kill him right in front of us, and Sarge, he just goes. We tried to stop him, but he said he wanted to choose how he went out, and he'd rather go out saving this kid then by pneumonia or being taken out back and shot for being too sick to work. So we let him," Dugan spoke.

It took Jones clapping him on the shoulder for Steve to realize he wasn't breathing. He sucked in a breath and nodded for Dugan to continue.

"I'm not going to lie," Dugan began. "When I first met Barnes, I thought he was a cocky little shit that wouldn't make it past our first skirmish. All the grinning and the joking—I'd seen war, and I'd thought his days were numbered. But the kid is sharp. And I mean that. Jones has got us all beat on book smarts, but as much as I give him shit, Barnes is intelligent. I'm seasoned, but he saved my life the first time he saw combat. The kid's a natural, and nobody in the 107th was surprised when he made Sergeant so damn fast. I'm sure you expected nothing less, but I sure as hell didn't. Barnes grew on me like a fungus and not just because he saved my life. By the time Azzano happened, I was proud to fight and die by his side. We all were. Still are," he spoke and the others nodded solemnly. "But I let him do it, because I _knew_ he was a dead man walking, and it would only be another day or so before they dragged him out and shot him. He deserved to go the way he wanted, and that was fighting for someone else's life."

"We didn't expect him to actually take down three of the four guards handing out the beating," Falsworth spoke wryly. "Beware of dying tigers, I suppose."

Dugan nodded, "He knocked down three of the four, the poor kid got out of the way, and the other guards were about to execute Jimmy when Zola walked in. He took one look at Barnes and one look at the downed guards, and he _wanted_ him. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair, because Barnes deserved his peace, and there was none in that hell. But, now he's alive," he allowed. "If Zola hadn't taken him, he'd be dead."

"We tried to ask about him, but the guards just laughed in our faces and told us the longest lasting prisoner of the isolation ward had only made it fifteen days. Barnes was there for forty," Jones spoke.

"We thought he was dead," Falsworth admitted. "When you asked, I didn't think there was even a chance. Judging by the things they did to him, he probably should be dead."

"Bucky's stubborn as a damn mule. Always has been. He's never gone down easy," Steve explained. "Course, we grew up in the poorest part of Brooklyn during the Depression. You didn't survive if you weren't tenacious."

"Here, here," Morita quipped, and immediately started on a story of how he and a friend stole some meat from a butcher associated with the Russian mob when he was younger. Steve let them steer him away from the rather distressing topic of Bucky's imprisonment for a while, as they all tried to outdo each other on stories of childhood stunts. Dernier, who accidentally blew up an empty warehouse at thirteen, won.

Bucky didn't wake for over twenty-four hours.

Steve heard him arguing with Monty before he actually saw them. "Buck?" he realized, turning and running through the men. They parted quickly.

"Steve," Bucky said when he saw him. He looked a little tired and a bit pale even though he'd done nothing but sleep for over a day. The lines at his eyes eased a bit as he looked over Steve, checking to make sure he was healthy and whole, like he'd been doing since they were six years old. There wasn't much point anymore though, now that Steve was serum enhanced. Somehow, he doubted Bucky would see it that way. "There you are. Monty's giving me some crock about getting back in the truck."

Steve put his hands on Bucky's shoulders and then on the side of his face, checking him over. "Hey, how are you feeling?" Bucky swatted his hands away irritably, which is what he always did when he was sick and Steve was checking on him.

"I'm fine, which is why it's ridiculous to expect me to get back in the truck. Someone give me back my rifle," he snapped.

"Bucky, you had a seizure," Steve protested. "You were unconscious for over twenty-four hours."

"Which means I'm well rested and ready to go," Bucky declared firmly. "Rifle, for the love of all someone hand me my blasted rifle."

"Bucky, you had a _seizure_ ," Steve protested firmly.

"And I'm fine. Rifle, _now_ ," he declared authoritatively in the tone of voice Steve knew meant he'd have to pull rank and fight him every step of the way to get him back in the truck and then he'd still mutiny at the first opportunity.

"Look me in the eye," Steve said seriously, "and tell me you feel alright."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but then did as Steve asked, "I feel _fine,_ Steve."

"You dizzy or anything?"

"No."

"Are you in pain?"

"No more than any other guy here."

Steve gave him an unimpressed look at that, but Bucky just cocked a brow and squared his shoulders. Steve knew that look. He'd seen Bucky give it to thugs, teachers, nuns, and priests, and while he may have gotten a beating for it dozens of times, he _never_ backed down.

"Stubborn son of a bitch," Steve grumbled grumpily, but he couldn't find it in himself to be too upset, because as soon as he realized his victory, Bucky _grinned_ and that was the first time since the punch drunk smile on the table that Bucky had smiled. "Until our next rest. A few hours, and then you're back on the truck," he conditioned, wiping the grin from Bucky's face.

"What?"

"You heard me," Steve said firmly. "A few hours on, a few hours off. That's the best deal you're going to get."

Bucky scowled, "Fine. Where's my rifle."

"Dum Dum's been keeping it warm for ya," Monty replied easily.

Bucky nodded and they moved back through the troops to the front of the line. Several of the men greeted Bucky warmly and clapped him on the shoulder. Bucky flinched each time. It was subtle, and Bucky tried to cover it with enthusiastic greetings, but Steve had known him his whole life, and he'd never seen Bucky shy away from a friendly touch (Bucky had always been extremely tactile) so to see it now was jarring, and a reminder that Bucky had been through so much more than the rest of the men, and that was saying something. They'd been through hell themselves, but nothing compared to the horror Bucky had experienced. Horror enough to make him flinch away from even a friendly hand for fear of pain. It was more than Steve could handle because Bucky had always been the strong one. And he couldn't stand to see him like this; in pain and hurting. It was more than he could take, so Steve resolutely _did not_ think about it. Instead, he focused on the fact that Bucky was beside him, that Dugan had kept his spot open for him the whole time. Bucky had been unconscious. Steve could tell Bucky was still tired, and even in pain, but he'd had a point. Most of the men were tired, and a good chunk of them were in pain, though Steve was willing to bet Buck was worse off than almost any of them. Even so, he kept pace and even shot an enemy sniper out of a tree before even Steve realized he was there.

Bucky was sharp, and apparently had an eagle eye, and seeing him in action, even when he was fresh out of being a human experiment, well, Steve wasn't at all surprised that he was a sergeant. Not even a little bit. For three days, Steve made Bucky adhere to the rest then walk then rest rule. Bucky grumbled and complained about it, but he also fell asleep within ten minutes of being back on the truck. Every time. And thankfully, during these exhausted naps, he didn't dream. Night was a different story. Several times he'd jumped to his feet with a shout on his lips and a knife in his hand that Steve still couldn't figure out where he even gotten. Bucky was always restless after these incidents, and refused to go back to sleep. Instead, he stalked about silently with Steve on patrol. He'd taken out another treed enemy on one of those. Steve had taken out his comrade on the ground, because the men were tired and hungry, and they just couldn't afford for the enemy soldier to get away and report their presence. It was the first man Steve killed. It'd been a split and utterly necessary decision, and afterwards Steve ruthlessly _did. not. think about it._ Bucky had followed Steve back to their camp circle and sat beside him, their shoulders pressed together, so Steve figured he knew, even if Steve didn't say anything.

In any case, it became clear to Steve rather quickly, that if it wasn't one of Bucky's drop dead from sheer exhaustion naps, he either wouldn't or couldn't go to sleep without Steve there. Steve didn't need quite as much sleep as he used to. The times he actually slept eight hours now was from habit, not from need. He'd started walking a patrol at night, letting Bucky walk with him, for a bit, then take his shift for sleep earlier, so he'd be there shoulder to shoulder with Bucky so he could go to sleep. The others had noticed Bucky's disinterest in sleep while Steve wasn't there, and before long Dugan was complaining about his watch, and wouldn't stop until Steve agreed to switch with him. Steve was incredibly grateful, because Bucky just wouldn't sleep unless Steve was in the circle. Steve didn't even have to be sleeping, but if he wasn't there, Bucky wouldn't even lie down and try. Steve thought it was probably a combination of what had been done to him, and a deeply ingrained instinct to watch Steve's back. There just wasn't any point in trying to rest if Steve was up and about and likely to find trouble. Steve could understand that. It wasn't like he spent anytime sleeping while Bucky was awake.

It occurred to him distantly that perhaps their relationship wasn't entirely healthy, but if that were the case, it was far too late to do anything about it now, so Steve shrugged it off.

It took five days to march back to the base, and by the time they got there, even Steve was tired. Bucky had marched all day without resting once, and Steve knew he was about ready to drop, but he moved forward strongly anyway, standing by Steve as he prepared to accept his punishment. Part of Steve was afraid Bucky would demand to be punished as well. Thankfully, it didn't come to that, and the whole camp was cheering for him at Bucky's lead. Steve allowed himself to feel stunned for a moment, but then when he turned to Bucky, he was gone. Steve, quickly looked about in concern, and finally saw Bucky being ushered to the medical tent by some nurses. Jones was with them, no doubt explaining things, and Steve moved to follow, only to be stopped by Peggy.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but we'll need your debriefing first," she told him gently.

Steve frowned in concern at the tense, hunched quality of Bucky's shoulders as he vanished into the tent, and he could only imagine what Bucky must be feeling at the moment. But he could understand the need for a quick debrief. Colonel Phillips would need to know what they were dealing with before he could manage the soldiers. But Bucky was a sergeant. Wasn't it possible that he'd be needed for the debriefing as well?

"Who else is needed?" he asked.

"Just you for now, Captain," she replied. "He'll debrief the other officers separately."

Steve nodded and followed Peggy to the command tent where Colonel Phillips, Howard Stark and some other scientists and lieutenants were waiting.

"Captain!" Howard rushed forward, shaking his hand vigorously. He wasn't the only one. There were quite a few pats on the back, congratulations, and good jobs all around, but Steve found it a little difficult to be cheery about it when he was worried about Bucky.

"Alright, alright," Phillips said, taking control of the room. "We need to know what happened, Captain. Everything you saw."

Steve immediately started the story, not leaving anything out from the strange weaponry, to the pens, to Bucky on that table, the map he saw in the room, Bucky's seizure, and the few run-ins with enemy soldiers they had on the way back. When he was finished, there were mixed emotions through the room. "They're trying to replicate it then," one of the scientists thought.

"I'm more concerned with the strange blue light in these weapons," Howard declared, pushing past the topic of what was done to Bucky. Steve was thankful. He didn't think he could keep talking about it for much longer. The more he did, the more horror he felt. It was just too much. "What can you tell me of its effects, Captain?" Howard continued.

Steve shrugged. "I'm not a scientist. I think it'd better for you observe its effects yourself. I brought you plenty of samples to play with."

"What?" Howard demanded, jerking up in his seat.

Steve nodded, "Yeah. In the trucks. Guns, magazines. Even brought you a tank."

Howard was on his feet and running out of the command center before Steve even finished, "Captain Rogers, I could kiss you!" And then he was gone.

"Well, that will be the last we see of him for quite a while," Peggy declared with a sigh.

"Well he'll have to wait to really get into the experimentation process. We're packing up and moving out; headed to London in three stages over the next ten days," Colonel Phillips declared.

"Sir?" one of the lieutenants questioned.

"We don't have the supplies to feed everyone, and given this new information, I think it's time to take things in a different direction. I'm sick of playing defense to Johann Schmidt. But first, we need to regroup and make plans, and give these boys a little bit of rest."

Everyone seemed to agree, and Steve could sense the meeting was coming to an end, so he stood up.

"Captain," Phillips spoke, getting his attention. "You will not be permitted to see Sergeant Barnes just yet. I need to debrief him."

Steve immediately began to protest, "I don't see why I can't be present for that sir. Sergeant Barnes has been through horrors above and beyond the call of duty and he could use all the support he can get."

"And I need to fully debrief him, Rogers," Phillips said firmly. "And in full detail if we're going to know everything we need to know to help him and make sure those bastards didn't do anything permanent. Now, you know him better than any of us. How willing will he be to share with you in the room?"

Steve opened his mouth to snap that of course Bucky would share, but then he closed it quickly, because, well, that wasn't necessarily true, now was it? Bucky wouldn't share anything if he thought it would cause Steve pain. He hadn't given any details yet, and he wasn't likely to. But Phillips was right. If the doctors were going to help Bucky, then they would need to know what had been done to him. But it was going to be hell for Bucky, he just knew it. So he fixed Colonel Phillips with a solemn look and spoke, "Alright. Just . . . make sure the doctors understand; being in medical is not going to be easy for him after that, and if they start poking and prodding at him, using him as a test subject to figure out what Zola was up to . . . he won't take it well. And neither will I," he said, making it clear exactly where he stood.

Phillips looked equally solemn as he spoke, with no hint of scorn or malice—a rare occurrence when speaking to Steve, "Captain, I assure you the Sergeant's situation will be handled with the utmost care, respect, and discretion, and _not_ just because he happens to be the same Sergeant Barnes who caused you to go AWOL and infiltrate an enemy base all on your own. I understand he's been through a hell that none of us in this room can fully grasp, but I will personally ensure he's well taken care of."

Steve studied him for a moment, and after deciding he was genuine, he nodded. "Alright."

Agent Carter moved closer to him and spoke very earnestly, "We'll take good care of him, Captain."

"I'm counting on it," he replied. "Please notify me as soon as I can see him."

Colonel Phillips nodded, "Fine. You're dismissed, Captain."

Steve nodded, "Thank you, sir." He left the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Okay, this is part 3. Just so you know, part 4 is officially finished and will be up in a couple of days. Enjoy.

 **PART THREE**

Gabe must have gotten a hold of the doctors, because from the moment they even approached Bucky, they were already treating him with kid gloves. At Dr. Anderson's lead, their white coats were gone, they were speaking in soothing tones, moving slowly, and telling him exactly where, when, and why they were touching him. Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn't a little relieved, because even with them being so damn accommodating, he was still ready to bolt at the slightest threat. But, they were doing their best to put him at ease so he did his best not to snap at them or the nurses. No one had made him lie down or lean back yet, and that was the most important thing.

"So how long am I stuck here for, doc?" Bucky asked, trying for levity. Anderson was average height and building, middle aged, and balding. He was by no means an imposing man, but then again, Zola hadn't been imposing either. Still, he looked like he'd be better suited as a family doctor in some small town back stateside, and Bucky kind of wondered what he'd done to piss someone off so bad he was shipped out to the front lines.

Dr. Anderson gave him an apologetic look, "At least a few days, I'm afraid. You were put through the ringer and with the seizure, I'm afraid we're going to have to monitor you for a bit; make sure your health hasn't been permanently effected."

"I'm fine, doc. The seizure was just a one off. I feel absolutely normal, so why don't you just let me out of here, huh?" Bucky wheedled.

But another voice cut in before the doctor could answer, "Because a mad scientist decided to play surgery on you when you were very much awake," Colonel Phillips spoke firmly, moving into the room that had been sectioned off for him. Apparently, he was still special enough for isolation, and wasn't he just thrilled. "And frankly, Sergeant, you should be dead. Yet, here you are before us, very much alive, surprisingly well, and having made shots so impressive, it's almost hard to believe."

Bucky was immediately on edge. He hadn't had much contact with the colonel before Azzano, but he'd seen enough of him to know he was not a man to be taken lightly. Bucky straightened a bit, wary as he gave a weak sort of salute. "Colonel."

Phillips waved him off, "That's not necessary, Sergeant. And given what you've experienced, I'm more inclined to salute you anyway."

Bucky grimaced.

"Please, Sergeant—at ease. We won't be getting into formalities here. Speak your mind."

"How long will I have to stay here?"

"Few days at least, Barnes. Given your history with Rogers, I have no doubt he already told you the very classified circumstances behind his altered physical state."

"No comment," Bucky remarked.

Phillips smirked wryly, before growing serious once more. "I've read your file. Your COs have said good things about your intelligence. I'm sure you've put together what was happening to you in that lab."

"They were trying to duplicate it," Bucky sighed tiredly, his voice rough and dry. "What you all did to Steve. They were trying to do it themselves."

He was very much aware of the note of accusation in his voice, but damn if he didn't care. Because Steve was absolutely fine before the serum. He had no idea why he was the only on in the whole world who seemed to get that. Steve hadn't needed fixing. Well, besides the life threatening health issues, there hadn't been anything wrong with him. Steve had been worth ten men before they turned him into some trumped up super soldier. Men like Phillips though, they'd never see that.

Colonel Phillips looked like he could guess what Bucky was thinking though, because he gave a slight smirk before growing serious once more. "You know what they were trying to do, so you know why it's so important we understand whether or not they succeeded."

Bucky could hear the blood rushing to his head at the implications of Phillips words. They were going to do it again. Sure, it wouldn't be the same as Zola, but it would still be bleeding and scraping and _tests_. Would any of this ever just end?

His voice came out both hoarser and angrier than he intended. "So what then? Round two?"

The doctor's eyes widened in surprise, but it was the Colonel who spoke, "Absolutely not. I'm not going to sugar-coat it, Sergeant; you'll have to stay a few days. There will be tests. It will be unpleasant. But _no one_ will be experimenting on you. What we need is to determine if your life is in any danger because of what was done to you. The good doctors will run some blood tests, maybe listen to your heart a bit, take your blood pressure and temperature, and that's it. But for them to fully understand how to help you and to make sure you're alright, they'll need to know everything you know about what was done to you. Which means we're going to sit here, and you're going to tell them."

Bucky felt panic at the prospect. There was no part of him that thought explaining to the doctors was a good plan, and that must have shown on his face as well, because Phillips said, "The more they know, the less intrusive they will have to be. Not to mention it's of the utmost importance that the SSR understand Zola's work. We go ahead and do it now, and if I'm satisfied that you've shared all the details you know, no one will bring it up again. But if there's information we need that I think you have, we will have this conversation as many times as it takes. The choice is up to you."

Bucky wanted to scream. He wanted to kick and yell and throw something, but all he did was grit his teeth and jerk his head in a nod.

Phillips nodded, "Good. Now, I thought you'd prefer it with as few people in here as possible, but my lieutenant is just outside the curtain with a type writer. This way you aren't surrounded by scientists and doctors."

"Who's going to be able to read it?" Bucky asked grimly, because wasn't that just the cherry on top? His own personal hell, immortalized forever in Army files.

"Not Captain Rogers," Phillips declared immediately. "Whatever you want him to know about the ordeal, you'll have to tell him yourself."

Bucky finally felt like he could breathe a little easier at that. Not much. But enough. "Thanks."

"He's a downright pain in my ass, Sergeant. I can only imagine what he puts you through. Now, start from when your unit was first captured."

Bucky took a deep breath and started the story. It was surprisingly easy to get through those first few weeks. He'd been with the others and nothing too terrible was happening. He got through it quick and easy, describing his worsening condition, how the others would "forget" to wake him for his watch, how Jones thought he had some cracked ribs, and how Bucky could hear him whispering things like, "getting worse" and "not long" when they thought he was sleeping. When he got to that last fight on the factory floor, Phillips stopped him.

"Do you want to tell me about this sacrificial lamb complex you have, Barnes?"

Bucky snorted in actual amusement, and he was thankful to Phillips for letting him take a break before things got worse. "Hardly. You saw what Steve was like before. The serum changed him physically, but not his personality. He started a hell of a lot of fights he couldn't finish. I just got in the habit of finishing them."

Phillips just shook his head again. "Pain in my ass," he reiterated. "Now," he added, leaning forward, intent gaze pinning Bucky in place. "Tell me about Zola."

All the wry amusement drained out of him and he grimaced. "He showed up right when they were about to blow my brains out. I would have preferred a bullet."

He had to shut himself off from the room he was in, from the people around him, from the words he was saying, and from the continuous tick, tick of the type writer outside the curtain. He closed his eyes and just spoke, reciting as many details as he could remember, describing the pain, the terrifying feeling of losing days at a time as Zola hurdled him to the brink of death only to drag him back, over and over and over again, how it felt to have liquid fire scourging through his veins, burning them all to ash, the exact horror he felt when he realized Zola was literally sticking his hand in a hole below his ribs, and he _could not even scream_.

When he finally finished, it was silent in the room. A sort of silent that set his teeth on edge and had him itching to run away. Unable to stand in the face of such a profound silence, and unable to even look any of them in the eye as he sat, laid bare. Angrily, he demanded, "So was that good enough, or are you going to make me do it again?"

"That will suffice, Sergeant," Phillips said. "You won't be questioned on the matter any further."

"I'll hold you to that, Colonel," Bucky promised darkly, still unable to look at any of them.

"Barnes," Phillips began, and in such a solemn tone of voice, that Bucky couldn't help but listen. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but you are a goddamn hero. I will make sure that's expressed in your file."

Bucky just grimaced, because he felt the furthest thing from a hero. Phillips continued though, "I'm going to be honest with you, Sergeant; you meet all the requirements for honorable discharge. You have indisputably experienced hardships beyond the call of duty, you are the last surviving male in your immediate family, and your service thus far has been exemplary. If you want to go home, you'll be there in a matter of weeks. But, there's chatter regarding Rogers leading a team, and I'd like you to consider being on it. You're a damn good soldier, and you might be the only person alive who can even slightly temper Rogers' stupidity."

Bucky snorted, and if he weren't angry at Steve still, he might have snapped at the Colonel for calling him stupid. But, infiltrating an enemy base alone in an American flag while waving a metal American flag around was the height of stupidity as far as Bucky was concerned, so Steve kind of deserved it. "I don't know if anyone can do that, but I do know I'm not going home. Not without Steve. I'm staying."

Phillips gave him a searching look and heaved a sigh, "I'm sorry I can't be sorry to hear that, Sergeant."

Bucky shrugged, "We're at war, Colonel; there's a lot we can't afford to be sorry for."

Phillips nodded solemnly, "True." He stood up. "Get some rest, Sergeant. The doctors won't start anything until the morning."

Bucky nodded and watched them go, feeling empty. It must have been several minutes of silence and Bucky staring emptily at the white tent wall before Anderson reappeared holding out a flask. "It's the best stuff we got. You need it more than I do."

Bucky smiled a little, accepting the flask gratefully. "Thanks, doc." He then paused, considering, "Don't suppose you've got some cigarettes tucked away somewhere too, huh?"

Anderson gave him a flat look that Bucky knew meant the man had children somewhere. It was a look to rival his own mother, and the tone matched as he spoke, "Don't even think about it, Sergeant."

"Worth a shot," Bucky shrugged and tipped the flask back as the doctor left.

It didn't help him sleep.

Three days went by, and Bucky was still stuck in his isolated room in the medical tent. The doctors and the nurses were beyond helpful, all going out of their way to make him as at ease as possible in the situation. When they took blood or checked his heart, they positioned him in the doorway with them on the inside so that if he felt the need to run, he could. The nurses gathered fresh pine every day for his room to help cover the antiseptic smell. No one touched him without telling him exactly what they were going to do and why. And no one ever stood between him and the door. All of these things helped stave off the almost constant panic attack he felt pushing at him every moment of the day, but Steve and the others weren't allowed in the tent. Bucky didn't know why they were kept out, but being isolated like this, especially in a med tent, felt a little too familiar for him to be comfortable with. He wasn't Zola's anymore, but he still felt like a kept human science project.

On the third day, he got a visitor.

"Hello, Sergeant. I'm Agent Peggy Carter," she smiled politely, and Bucky straightened up immediately, reacting unconsciously to the air of authority she projected. Steve had mentioned her a couple of times on the march back, and in enough poorly disguised reverence for him to know Steve was smitten. Seeing her now, all authority, skirt, and red full lips, well, Bucky really couldn't blame him. At least the kid had good taste.

He stood from the chair and gestured to it, "Please, have a seat, Ma'am," he said politely, even though he knew she was high ranking in the SSR and therefore one of _them_.

She just smiled, waved him off, and settled on the edge of his bed. "I'm quite fine right here, Sergeant. Please, keep the chair."

Bucky shrugged as he sat back down and tried to pull on some of his old charm, "I'd love to offer you a drink or something, Agent Carter, but . . ." he looked around his isolated and mostly empty quarters and shrugged helplessly, watching carefully to see if she'd pick up on what he was getting at.

The quirk on her lips suggested she understood his rather pointed allusion to being less than thrilled with his current circumstances, but she chose to ignore it. "Well what kind of guest would I be if I didn't bring you something for your hospitality, Sergeant? How do you feel about tea?"

He shrugged, "It's not coffee, but it'll do."

She shook her head, amused, "You Americans and your coffee."

Before Bucky could reply there was a voice outside the little room. "Agent Carter? I have a tray for you."

"Yes, come in, Private," she said. "Please, put it on the bed," she instructed as one of Phillips' pencil pushers came in carrying a tray of tea and cookies. Once the private had done as she asked, she smiled, "That will be all. Thank you." He made himself scarce and Agent Carter asked, "How do you take it?"

"Milk and sugar," he replied immediately, because it would be the first time he had the opportunity. Before the army, he and Steve had had barely enough pennies to rub together. The coffee they'd had had been bitter and slightly metallic in taste. If they were lucky they had a little bit of skim milk to soften it. Never any sugar.

She smiled and handed him a cup and saucer with a little cookie on the side. He waited until she had fixed her own and settled back on the edge of the bed before he took a sip. It was good, he realized, taking a longer one. What he wouldn't give to have a coffee with real milk and real sugar. That was probably what heaven tasted like.

He turned his attention back to Agent Carter as she delicately sipped at her tea. She placed the cup on the saucer and held them delicately in her hands. "Now, Sergeant, I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here."

"I am actually, Agent Carter," Bucky admitted. He was wondering, but he could certainly guess. The doctors or the scientists had decided there was some other piece of information they needed that they could only get from him, and Phillips decided to send the dame, hoping she could soften him up enough to answer instead of raising hell about them going back on their word. It would be too bad for them. He wouldn't take it out on Agent Carter, of course, but he would not be answering any of those questions. He told them all he knew.

He continued, "I know you're high up within the SSR, so I imagine it has something to do with my time with Zola, even though Colonel Phillips assured me it wasn't a conversation we'd be having again."

Her smile was gentle and set Bucky on edge. "I've read the report, Sergeant. No further inquiry is necessary or acceptable. And please, call me Peggy."

"Then you can drop the 'Sergeant'," he replied. "So if it's not about Zola, what does bring you here, Peggy?" he asked, deciding to try for friendly and give her the benefit of the doubt, even though she was one of _them._ It was for Steve's sake, and not because she was a dame, even if she was a pretty one.

Her smile turned amused, "A rather troublesome mutual friend," she said pointedly. "Captain Rogers has been causing all sorts of commotion in his outrage of not being allowed to see you."

Bucky snorted, genuinely amused, "I can imagine. Punk's not used to not getting his way. Or rather, when he doesn't get his way, he keeps barreling at whatever's in his path until it gives in."

Her eyes sparkled in mirth, "Yes, well the doctors want you resting, and the Colonel doesn't believe rest can be achieved if Rogers is anywhere in a fifty mile radius. To be perfectly honest though, I believe he's using the doctor's declaration for rest as a means to punish Captain Rogers for the stress he put him through. Unfortunately though, punishing Rogers in this regard indirectly punishes you as well."

Bucky rolled his eyes, completely unsurprised. "Steve getting himself on the wrong side of an authority figure is basically the story of our lives by this point."

"So I've heard. In any case, I was quite concerned for the safety of our medical tent. The Captain seemed ready to infiltrate it much like the HYDRA base you just came from, and as that one burned to the ground, I felt like something ought to be done before this place suffered a similar fate."

Bucky tilted his head to the side and considered, "Steve blowing this place sky high and getting me out of here? Seems like a pretty good option to me."

She chuckled, "I suppose it would. In any case, to save innocent staff from the collateral damage, I decided to get involved. As an officer of the SSR, I am fully authorized to be here, so I assured Captain Rogers I would make sure you are being treated well. It is a very solemn duty I have been charged with, and I assure you, I am taking it very seriously. So, are you in fact being treated well, James?"

He made a face, "Only my mother calls me James."

Her smile was amused and mischievous, "She must be a remarkable woman to have raised you, and I would hardly mind having something in common with her, _James_."

Bucky laughed, the first time in weeks, "I can see why he likes you."

Her smile softened. "More than that, James. He _trusts_ me. And I'm not inclined to break that trust. Captain Rogers wants to make sure you are alright, and I intend to follow through."

"Well, you can tell Steve to stop being such a mother hen," Bucky said. "I'm fine," which was pretty much a lie, but he certainly didn't care. "I don't really get why Steve can't come in, or why anyone else can't for that matter. They afraid I'm contagious or something? Why am I being isolated like this?"

Peggy frowned. "There are a couple of factors at play here, James. One, the doctors and the scientist don't really know what they're dealing with, and with these sort of unknowns, isolation is the standard protocol. Furthermore, even though the soldiers in question know the basics of what you experienced at Zola's hands, Dr. Erksine's work is highly classified. They're not supposed to know the little information they do know. And as far as Steve is concerned, as I said before, the Colonel is punishing him for his … _disregard_ of his authority."

"Do you know how much longer this will go on?" Bucky asked, not concealing his frustration, "Or at least when they'll let me out of here?"

Peggy gave him a sympathetic look, "I'm not entirely sure, James, but I do know they're aiming to release you soon. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but it's pretty much the worst kept secret on the base by now anyway. We're packing up. The whole of the SSR is moving to London within the week, and they're working to clear you for active duty before then. Chin up, James. It won't be long now."

Bucky settled back against the seat and sipped at the surprisingly good tea. "Thank you," he said, because Agent Carter was the only person in the place that had told him anything, and perhaps that meant she wasn't quite one of _them_.

"Don't mention it, James. Really. If asked, I was only here to ask after your general well-being," she said, with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Bucky smirked, amused, "I think I can manage that."

Her expression softened into something like sympathy but still miles away from pity, and that distinction was incredibly important to him. "On that note, Colonel Phillips and I have some differing views on things. You are qualified for honorable discharge, and you more than deserve it," she spoke seriously. "There is not a bureaucrat out there who would refuse you it. And given how I feel about bureaucrats, that's saying something. Why aren't you taking your ticket home, James?"

Bucky sighed. He knew she was trying to offer her support, and trying to help, but she just didn't understand. "They're going to give Steve a team, aren't they?" She looked surprised so he continued. "Phillips as much as said it. They're going to give Steve a team and he's going to ask me. He won't even realize the implications of what he's asking. Not really. Because for Steve—he tried so hard to get here. He won't even consider some of us are trying equally hard just to get home. He's going to ask, and I'm going to say yes. Not because I don't want to disappoint him, or something like that. If I did say no, he'd be surprised, but he wouldn't begrudge me the right to go back to my sisters and my mother. He'd support me the whole way home, and write me letters whenever he could, and probably send his pay to my family. But I'm not going to say no. I'm going to say yes, because Steve's got the self-preservation instincts of a damn dodo bird. I mean, _you_ let him pull the stupidest damn stunt in the whole world. Worst yet, the punk actually managed to pull it off, so now he probably even thinks it was actually a good idea. Obviously I can't trust you to look after him," he said with a wry look to let her know he was joking. Mostly. He grew serious again quickly. "I'm not going home without Steve, Agent Carter. I'll follow him straight back into hell if that's what it takes."

Her sigh was resigned but understanding, "Well, I certainly see why he went to such lengths to save your life, when the odds you were even still alive were so slim."

He cracked a grin, "That mean I pass muster?"

She smiled at him, amused. "You already had my approval, James. But now you have it by your own merit instead of Steve's say so. Your own merit is far more impressive, by the way." She stood and straightened out her skirt. "It was lovely chatting with you. If you're still here tomorrow, I'd love the opportunity to repeat the experience."

Bucky smiled and nodded, "Sounds nice."

"Would you like me to pass a message on?" she asked.

Bucky nodded immediately, "Tell Steve he's still the stupidest damn punk in all of Brooklyn."

Her smile was mischievous, "I'll quote you."

Bucky actually laughed again as she left the room.

Peggy wasn't all that surprised to find the other band of misfit soldiers gathered around Steve. Nor was she particularly surprised to find they seemed to know exactly where she'd just been. She gave him a very mildly disapproving look, but he just shrugged, utterly unrepentant. The look was mostly for show. She agreed with him, really. They deserved to know how Barnes was doing.

"How is he? How's the sarge?" the large one in the curious bowler hat asked. Well, demanded was more of an appropriate turn.

She raised a brow, letting him know she wasn't particularly impressed with his manners. "Quite well, though not particularly pleased. Though that is a completely understandable affliction at this point. Still, we had a lovely tea, and I must say his manners and company are quite pleasant for an American. It was so lovely in fact, we have made another appointment for tomorrow," she said, giving them all a rather pointed look. "I believe for the same time, even."

They all nodded, understanding, and Steve looked beyond grateful. "Thank you, Agent Carter," he said, full of rather endearing feeling.

Peggy blinked innocently, "Whatever for? I'm only having tea with a grounded officer. Nothing to report."

She wasn't at all surprised it was the Brit who played along with her little game. "This officer, how did he seem, out of curiosity?"

"Quite well, all things considered. In fact, I'd wager he'll be free to join me out of the medical tent for tea within the next few days."

"Glad to hear it," Jones said.

Peggy glanced at the men, well aware that all eyes were on her, desperate for any other scrap of information regarding their beloved Sergeant. It seemed their connection to James created a rather strong bond between them and Captain Rogers. So much so, that Peggy was willing to bet that Steve would choose each of these men for his team, if given a say. "I did ask James if he wanted to pass along a message," she told them, wanting to help alleviate their worries.

Steve blinked, "James? He lets you call him James?"

She waved off the questions, "James and I shared tea, Captain. We're practically best friends by now." She smiled in amusement as she watched Steve process this information and wonder whether or not he should be worried that his best friend would allow something so uncharacteristic. She could practically see him trying to figure out if it was a good sign or a bad sign. Such a little thing as her calling him James. She had to laugh, "Oh, he was right about you, Captain. You are a mother hen."

Steve straightened, indignant. "I am not."

The men laughed, "Yeah you are!"

"You've done nothing for days but pace around the med tent, wondering if you need to tear it down just to check on him."

"Look like a damn lost puppy."

Steve turned slightly pink around the ears at these accusations, and heaven help her, it was quite fetching. She decided to have mercy on him and spare him from his new friends. "The message was for you, Captain. James said, and I quote, 'Tell Steve he's still the stupidest damn punk in all of Brooklyn'," she said in her best American accent. "End quote."

The others howled in laughter, either at her attempt at an American accent, the vulgar language coming out of her mouth, or the words themselves. Probably a combination of the three, if she had to guess. Steve just looked like he was torn between being happy he heard from his best friend and angry over being called a stupid punk. That, she found oddly endearing as well, heaven help her.

"The jerk," he grumbled full of frustration and affection.

She smiled at him and then made a show of checking her watch. "Well, I am famished. Be good gentlemen and escort me to the mess, won't you?" she ordered, more than asked. But all seven of them straightened and smiled.

"Of course, Agent Carter," James Falsworth said smoothly. "We'd be happy too."

"Yeah, you're a lot prettier than this one," the one in the bowler hat declared, clapping Captain Rogers on the shoulder, making the Captain grumble mutinously.

Peggy laughed, amused, "I'm not sure about that. The Captain is rather pretty."

They all laughed again and Steve slid her a very poor look of feigned annoyance. Poor because he couldn't keep the amused smile off of his face. She allowed herself to relax a little and laugh with them as she enjoyed their company over dinner. Part of her was still worried for the Sergeant. She knew she'd always be concerned for him, after what she'd read, but a little of the worry eased away. If these were the men James Barnes had at his back, then it was quite possible he'd make it through alright.

Bucky had no idea who thought it would be a good idea to leave him completely alone most of the day and night. He'd been mostly alone besides scientists and doctors for weeks now, and they didn't count when they were cutting into him. What he needed was some real, proper human interaction. Anything to distract him. Because with all the time on his hands, with all the silence, he couldn't help his thoughts circling around in endless loops—everything that had happened to him, everything they'd done, how badly it'd hurt, how he was still afraid. The silence and isolation were a type of torture in and of themselves, and not ones he was ready to face. After everything they'd done to him, how could anyone think that so much time alone was what he needed?

On top of that, he wasn't sleeping well. Every time he fell asleep, he was back in that lab, on his back, helpless as Zola brandished a needle or a scalpel. It'd barely been a week, and with him being so isolated, that just wasn't enough to dim the fear that it wasn't over. There was still part of him that was terrified this was some sort of long, elaborate dream, and that he'd never made it off the table at all. Being kept away from everyone else was certainly not helping that fear. In any case, he'd pretty much given up any pretense of sleeping at all, and instead took short naps every few hours. There was no way he'd be cleared for duty like this, but they'd release him from the tent for the move to London. By the time they got to London he'd be cleared. He thought he'd probably start sleeping a lot better when he was back with the others, knowing someone he trusted was watching his back. And if that didn't help, they'd probably want him out in the field with Steve enough to sign off on him anyway. He just had to make it for a couple more days.

Peggy helped with that.

"Good afternoon, James," she greeted cheerfully the following day. She came with a briefcase of papers that set him on edge, but she just shook her head at his obvious agitation. "Come now, James; have a little faith, would you? There is nothing sinister in this bag and nothing at all related to Dr. Zola. I just had to make it look official in order to smuggle in the goods."

Bucky sat up straighter, the excitement at the prospect of smuggled gifts, quickly banishing any anxiety he'd felt at the sight of the case. "Smuggled goods, huh?"

She smiled, "Yes, but let's wait for the tea so there's no chance of us being interrupted. It'd be a terrible shame to have to dispose of a body in this weather."

Bucky snorted appreciatively right as a somewhat timid sounding private called out, "Your tea, ma'am."

She grinned and allowed him in, "On the bed, if you please. Thank you, private; you're dismissed." She quickly set to the tea as the private left, and Bucky accepted his cup gratefully.

"Thanks, Carter."

Her lips twisted in wry amusement, "While I'm glad to have been promoted from "Agent," I did give you permission to call me Peggy when we're operating in non-official capacities, James."

Bucky smirked a bit, "Yeah, but I like Carter. More familiar than agent, but still has authority. If you don't like it though, I'll call you Peggy."

She tilted her head slightly, regarding him, and Bucky thought she was probably trying to tell if he was laughing at her. He wasn't, and he did his best to show that on his expression. He did prefer Carter. Peggy had fought her way to a position of authority, and he wanted to recognize that, and he thought using her last name would do that better, if she truly did want to be on more familiar terms than "Agent" and "Sergeant." Not to mention Steve was sweet on her so he didn't want to seem too familiar.

Peggy must have decided he meant no disrespect because she smiled, "Well I suppose it would be remiss of me not to allow you to call me Carter when you're kind enough to let me call you James."

"You're right; it definitely would," he agreed, sipping his tea.

She shook her head, amused. "Well," she declared, setting her tea down and grabbing her case. "The boys and I thought you must be getting pretty bored in here, so we rifled around the base a bit." She pulled out a book, "One of those murder mysteries. Mr. Jones apparently goes through them like a fiend, and has set up a little trading market with the others. He seemed sure you hadn't read this one yet," she said passing Bucky the book. "Thought you might like it. I've heard good things about it myself, so you'll have to let me borrow it when you're through."

Bucky took the rather worn and torn paperback eagerly. Books were rather limited and Jones read more than any person Bucky had ever met, which is why he'd started trading the books his family sent him after he was through. He was able to read a decent amount that way, though still less than he'd like. "Murder mystery, huh? I guessed the last one. Won a pack of cigarettes off him," Bucky grinned.

Peggy smiled, "He mentioned something about that. Said you'll never guess this one. His bet is a bottle in London."

"He's on," Bucky said immediately.

"I'll let him know." Peggy grabbed two more items out of the bag and passed them on. "Cigarettes from Mr. Morita, a lighter from Mr. Falsworth. Use with discretion though, James. I'm not sure the doctors would approve."

Bucky eagerly accepted those too. He was sure he could get away with a couple later that night. They left him alone after lights out.

"M&Ms from our French fellow, and what I can only guess is glorified paint thinner from Mr. Dugan," she said, offering the flask.

Bucky snorted, "Paint thinner would probably be a kindness."

"Indeed," she said, before pulling out a sheet of paper. "And this, is from Rogers," she said, smiling wide as she handed it over.

Bucky grinned as he looked at the little comic Steve had drawn of Dugan snoring, mouth wide open while the others dropped increasingly larger objects in his mouth. He cackled, delighted. "Rogers said that's only part one of your present. Part two is that you get to be the one who shows it to Mr. Dugan."

Bucky laughed even louder. "Good man, Steve."

"I didn't realize he was an artist," she admitted, smiling.

"This is nothing. You should see his real stuff," Bucky declared. "He'd have made a good living as an artist, given half the chance."

"No doubt," Peggy agreed. "What was it like growing up together? Steve told me he had a tendency for finding trouble."

Bucky snorted. "Carter, you have no idea. Let me tell you about the time Steve almost got us killed by the local Italians." Bucky took great pleasure in telling Peggy about all the trouble Steve had gotten them into growing up, and how the teachers, the nuns, and pretty much everyone had thought Bucky was the bad influence of the two—that he was the one always dragging sweet, angelic Steve into worse and worse trouble. Only their mothers had known it was the other way around. Bucky couldn't really blame them, growing up. If he'd been staring down at eight year old versions of themselves, he'd blame himself too.

He felt rather pleased with himself, by the end of it, because he'd reduced Peggy to tears of mirth. She'd been doubled over, clutching her sides in a way totally uncharacteristic for an upper class Brit, and Bucky had managed to make it happen, even while he was a shell of a person recovering from Zola. Not to mention, he'd given her plenty of ammunition against Steve, and the stupid punk deserved it. Bucky was still a little angry, even if he did still wish they'd let Steve in. "Well, James, that was the best tea I've had in quite some time. Thank you," she smiled widely as she finally stopped laughing.

"Happy to oblige, Carter," he replied. "Thank you for gracing me with your presence."

"Of course. I'll tell the others you are well, even if the rest doesn't seem to be agreeing with you. Are you sleeping at all?" she asked, looking a bit more serious.

"I was never much for rest," he replied.

She nodded, "Alright. I'll see you tomorrow, James. If not in here, than out there."

He nodded and watched her go, already missing the conversation. But, at least he had something to distract himself with. And he was going to win that bottle off of Jones. No way was he buying when they reached London.

"You decent, Sergeant?" the Colonel's voice called early the next morning. He hadn't slept much so he'd already showered and shaved, and was currently sitting in the rather uncomfortable chair, reading the book. He'd settled on who he'd pegged as the culprit. Now he just had to see if he was right.

"I'm a decent shot. Don't know about much else though," he replied back as the Colonel pushed his way in.

"More than decent at that, from what I hear," Phillips spoke, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Bucky didn't really like it, and tensed slightly, because it put Phillips between him and the door. He hadn't really minded when Peggy had sat there, but Peggy had the ability to choose whether or not she came off threatening. There wasn't any turning off the threatening aura where the Colonel was concerned.

Bucky gave a non-committal shrug, then asked, "You got good news or bad news, Colonel? Because if it's bad, I'm going to demand that someone around here give me some coffee first."

"Well that depends on how you look at it, Sergeant," Phillips spoke. "On the one hand, you're getting out of here; on the other, you're getting stuck with Rogers. The distinction rests on you."

Bucky sat up straight. "I'm getting out of here?"

"Right after we're done with this conversation, in fact, though you'll have a checkup when we reach London before you're officially cleared for duty." Phillips then gave him a rather scrutinizing look, "Possibly more than one. You look like hell, Barnes."

Bucky gave him an irritated look, "I don't sleep well in captivity, sir."

"If you're looking for an apology, look elsewhere, Sergeant. Everyone here was just doing their jobs." Phillips declared. "Now, have you changed your mind about that honorable discharge?"

"No," Bucky spoke firmly.

Phillips nodded, "Glad to hear it. Now, you're being moved out of your unit. You'll be officially signed onto Rogers' team, as his second in command as soon as it's formed. Additionally, you're moving out of the barracks; you'll now be bunking with Rogers. I know typically CO's are segregated but you'll be an unorthodox team in an already unorthodox situation, and having an NCO and a CO sharing quarters will hardly be the most unorthodox part. There is a reason for it. Rogers may officially be a Captain now, but for all intents and purposes, that dumbass plan of his is the only combat he's seen. The man's not even really been out in the field, and while he went through the same boot camp as everyone else, we both know that what you learn at home doesn't always translate out here. You're already a sergeant, you've got a lot of action under your belt, and you come highly recommended. You'll be able to teach Rogers the things about the job that he hasn't had the chance to learn, and sharing a bunk will help you both do that," Phillips declared. He then admitted, "It shouldn't be too hard. I might not be Rogers' biggest fan, but he's a quick study. Still, an extra set of experienced eyes are invaluable, and you've had enough experience as a sergeant to teach him what he needs to know. You have any problems with that, Sergeant?"

"No sir," Bucky declared immediately. Of course he'd help Steve, but it'd be a learning curve for both of them. Bucky had no idea how big their team would be, but what worked for a two company unit was not what worked for a small team. But Bucky had been on the ground far longer than Steve, and as a Sergeant, he had sat in on the Captain's planning sessions; he knew how things worked, between the captains and the brass and between the captains and the men. He'd come to understand the bureaucracy inherent in war, and he could navigate it when need be. He also had a good eye for practicalities in the field, and going over strategies. He could still help Steve, he realized with a huge flood of relief. Steve still needed him. He was Captain America now; hundred more pounds of muscle, and eight extra inches, and superhuman strength, but Bucky could still help him. He hadn't even realized how much he needed that.

"Good," Phillips declared. "Agent Carter will be directing you both for the move, so go to her for your orders. You move out for London with the second group tomorrow, so get ready."

"Yes sir," Bucky said, standing up. He was ready to bolt out of there as soon as Phillips was out of his way.

"Then you're free to go," Phillips declared, moving for the door. He paused with the flap open and looked back at Bucky, eyebrow raised, "Do I smell cigarette smoke, Sergeant?"

Bucky stood tall under his scrutinizing gaze, "All I smell is pine, sir."

Phillips' eyes narrowed. "Indeed. Get out of here, Barnes, before I decided to tell Dr. Anderson on you."

" _Yes sir_ ," Bucky said intently. He didn't need the extra incentive, and he bolted all the way out of the tent. Bucky moved swiftly away from the med tent. He didn't really know where he was going; he had no specific goal other than to get completely on the other side of the camp so that he could finally breathe a little easier. He just quickly slogged through the mud taking in antiseptic free air.

"Bucky!" Steve's voice called urgently, and Bucky turned around, eyes sweeping around to find Steve hurrying towards him. He barely had time to brace himself before Steve swept him up in a bone creaking hug, making Bucky swear loudly. "Hey! Be careful with those arms! I like my ribs without cracks, thanks," but as much as he tried to sound pissed off, he couldn't keep the amusement out, or the cheerfulness at finally being free.

Steve loosened his grip, and Bucky used his new found freedom to throw an arm around Steve's shoulders. It was a completely different kind of thing now that Steve was half an inch taller than him, but still doable, and Bucky jostled him cheerfully, like he'd done since they were six. He was pissed at Steve. He was pissed Steve was here instead of safe at home selling illustrations to magazines. He was pissed Steve had volunteered to be a science experiment and hadn't told him any of it. He was pissed. But, at the same time, he had _missed_ Steve. Steve was his best friend and brother, and god, Bucky had missed him. "You causing any trouble around here? Am I gonna have to jump into a fight and save your ass?"

Steve grinned, beaming like the sun, and Bucky could feel his own grin widening to match. It was so good just to be out breathing free air. "You know, funny thing, not half as many people pick fights with me now that I look like this. Everyone's suddenly completely agreeable."

Bucky snorted, "I don't doubt it. You look like a monster now. I bet I could still take you though."

"Yeah? You wanna bet?" Steve grinned and Bucky laughed.

"Maybe tomorrow. I'm going to enjoy my freedom for a little longer before I get my ass handed to me," Bucky smirked.

Steve laughed.

"Hey! Sarge!" a voice exclaimed excitedly, from a lot closer than Bucky had expected. He jumped violently, when a hand clapped down on his shoulder. He swore and immediately started berating Dugan. "Hey! Warn a guy, huh?"

Dugan just grinned at him and called to the others, and suddenly, Bucky was surrounded, being swept up in bear hugs like they hadn't seen him in months. Bucky tried not to flinch, because damn it, these were his friends, and he wasn't being locked up anymore, and he'd never had a problem with people touching him before. But it was a hard thing, and Bucky could see a tightness around Steve's eyes that suggested that Steve could see that Bucky was struggling with it, which was enough to make Bucky swear more. He didn't think he could take much more of Steve's kicked puppy looks. And now he'd be bunking with Steve who would easily be able to spot changes in Bucky, and who had always been able to tell when something was bothering him.

It was possible he hadn't really thought this through.

"Did you even sleep in the med tent?" Falsworth asked, giving him a scrutinizing look.

"You still look like hell, Jimmy," Dugan agreed.

"Oh yeah, Barnes. You look like shit," Morita piped in.

Dernier rattled something off in French, and Jones laughed loudly, "He said you should ask for your money back."

Bucky scowled. "Alright, alright, enough!" He declared loudly, when after ineffectually shoving them off, the others were _still_ crowding him. "I am _fine_. Now stop it," he said, pointing a finger specifically at Dugan who had shoved up Bucky's sleeve, looking for fresh needle marks, no doubt, ready to go tear the doctors a new one. He appreciated the gesture, of course, but he was fine, damn it, and he didn't need Dugan barreling through the med tent yelling at doctors when they really had tried to make it as easy as possible on him. Initially, after they'd become friends, it had surprised Bucky how completely over protective Dugan was. Now it just annoyed the hell out of him.

Dugan held up his hands in surrender and backed off a bit, "Alright, alright."

Bucky swung his finger over to Jones, who'd been looking like he wanted to lift up Bucky's sweater and check on his stitches, but he surrendered too, raising his hands. "Alright," Bucky said, relaxing a little once no one was pressing in on him. "Now that you assholes have learned some manners, how is everyone? Is everyone alright? How's Hastings. I never asked," he realized.

"Yeah, he made it, against all odds," Jones replied easily. "So did Adams and that kid from Morita's platoon if you're interested. We didn't lose anyone else after they took you."

Bucky knew that meant their group specifically—the men Bucky had been directly in charge of. Of those who'd gone into Azzano with them, none had died, even in the escape. That was a weight off of Bucky's shoulders he hadn't known he'd been carrying. "How many made it back here?" he asked, because he'd been missing thirteen in Azzano.

"Two were killed in the initial attack," Dugan told him. "Murphy and Jane."

Bucky nodded, jaw a little tight. Thirty-eight had made it out. He didn't know how many had been lost totally, but thirty-eight was a high number. Higher than could be expected. Still, Murphy and Jane hadn't made it, and that kind of stung.

"Everyone will want to see you, Sarge," Jones told him. "But that can wait till the barracks later. Breakfast first, huh?" They all agreed and started moving towards their designated mess tent.

"I'll have to see them later. Won't be back to the barracks," Bucky revealed with a smirk. "I've been moved to Captain Asshole's tent," he said, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

"Hey!" Steve protested, scowling at the name as they moved in to grab trays.

Bucky gave him an innocent look as he took his, "What?"

Steve rolled his eyes. And they moved to one of the tables further back, setting their trays down and spreading out comfortably. The porridge looked like it was congealing a bit and the sausage was questionable, but Bucky was starving and he'd eaten iffier things over the past year, and while he was with Zola, he often wasn't fed at all if Zola was concerned with the food interfering with whatever injection or experiment he'd planned for the day. A lot of the time, he was given nutrients from an iv. He'd take pretty much any food at this point.

"So you'll be in officer country, eh?" Dugan asked, shoveling a huge spoonful of sludge into his mouth. "I hope that's not a sign. You're bad enough as our NCO. I don't know that I could take you as a CO."

Bucky laughed, a touch bitter, "Yeah, I don't think they're about to hand me a promotion for being the longest lasting lab rat in the cage, Dum."

"Don't know; that seems like a pretty solid call for a promotion to me," Morita joked. The man had a twisted sense of humor. It was a coping mechanism, Bucky suspected. A way to deal with the fact that he was out in hell, risking his life for his country when his own family was being held Stateside in an internment camp, just because his grandparents still lived in Japan. Morita was a cynical bastard, and that was something Bucky could appreciate at the moment. He was feeling pretty cynical too, these days. "I'm sure there's a badge for glowing in the dark or something. You glow in the dark, Barnes?"

Bucky snorted, "Not so far. Too bad, too. Emitting radio waves is how you make staff-sergeant, so looks like I'm doubly screwed."

"Damn. There goes my military career. They're not gonna make a Japanese American who can't even emit radio waves a Staff Sergeant." Bucky snorted again, because the real issue was they wouldn't be making a Japanese American anything.

Jones, who was facing similar discrimination, joined in. "Man. I can't even glow in the dark! And forget the radio waves. My career's going nowhere."

"You know the real problem, don't ya?" Dugan prompted, getting their attention. "You're not Irish. Why do you think Barnes and I are the ones with rank? Because we're Irish. If you were Japanese Irish, you'd already be running this joint, Morita. I mean, they wouldn't even take Cap until they had to."

Steve snorted into his water and Morita nodded sagely. "That must be it. Not Irish."

It was funny, because there was a time up north where factories or anyone hiring would literally take anyone before they'd take the Irish immigrants, even if the Irish could speak the language while the others couldn't.

"I feel like I'm missing something here," Monty said, looking around. Dernier nodded.

"Don't worry about it; just American politics," Jones replied.

"Ah, there you are, James," Peggy spoke, getting all of their attention as she moved to their table. "So glad to see you out and about."

"Carter," Bucky greeted with a smile. "I was going to come looking for you after we finished. I'm reporting to you for now it seems."

"Yes, which is why I came to see you. You've been assigned fresh gear and a new bedroll. They are already waiting in Captain Rogers' tent. Neither of you have express orders today, though Colonel Phillips did mention something about furthering Captain Rogers' education. He said you'd know what he meant. I'm not quite sure."

"Wait, what do you mean, furthering my education?" Steve asked.

Bucky grinned at the surprised, slightly wary look on Steve's face. After all this time, they could just sense when the other was going to do something they didn't like. "Oh? They didn't tell you? During the transition, I'm basically your boss."

Steve's eyes widened in panic, "You can't be serious."

Bucky grinned wider, "Oh yeah. You gotta listen to what I say and do what I tell ya, Mr. Star Spangled Man with a plan." The others burst into laughter, howling like monkeys. Steve's eyes widened in absolute horror and Bucky cackled viciously.

Peggy very discretely hid a laugh. "It seems to me you all have your hands full. Find me if you need anything," she said, leaving the table.

Steve put his head in his hands and groaned, "Oh, god. How'd you find out?"

"One of the nurses told me," Bucky grinned. "She's gotta sister who was one of the dancers. I've heard all sorts of tales about your days as a show girl, Steve."

"Bucky," he begged and Bucky shook his head.

"Nope. It's what you get for lying to me, punk. How many letters have you sent me since I left, and never once did you mention any of it, asshole."

"I didn't want you to worry about that stuff. And then after . . . well, after, I was a _show girl_ ," he admitted, looking a bit embarrassed, a bit sheepish, and every bit that Steve Rogers earnestness that always got him out of trouble with Bucky.

He sighed, giving in. "Well, if nothing else, I bet you made pretty showgirl," Bucky said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?" Steve lamented.

"Never," Bucky agreed.

One of the guys two tables down let out a loud yell, and Bucky's hand fisted tight around his spoon in an automatic response. They were talking about baseball, he realized, letting his grip loosen again. They were just two pals having a good spirited argument about baseball. He let out a huff, annoyed with himself. They were on base, for cripe's sake. The hell was wrong with him.

Steve heaved a sigh and stood up, distracting Bucky, "Well can we at least get out of here before you embarrass the hell out of me?"

Bucky shrugged, trying not to show his relief. There were too many people in the mess at the moment. It was too loud. Too much "I don't see why not." He stood up and the others followed his lead. They moved out of the tent and Bucky got his mind back on task before turning to look at Steve. "In all seriousness though, there's a lot to teach you, if you're going to be a Captain for real, Steve. Starting with how to work the brass so that they actually want to help you."

"You're going to help me?" Steve said perking up immediately as they moved out of the mess.

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Course, I am, Steve. What do you take me for? Phillips had a point; there's a lot of things you learn in basic training that just don't translate to out here, but it's not too hard to figure out. I'll have you working the system in no time. Let's make sure Phillips regrets giving me the job, huh? Guy's an asshole for not letting you come see me."

Steve grinned wide, "Sounds good to me, Buck. But why don't we start with a nap, huh? I didn't sleep much last night, and we can go ahead and check your stuff."

"That's not a bad idea," Jones said. "We're all supposed to report for packing up duty, anyway."

Bucky gave Steve a scrutinizing look, because now that he mentioned it, Steve did look pretty beat. He frowned in concern, "You okay, Steve?"

"Yeah, course, Buck. Just didn't sleep much last night, you know? Could use a nap. Just a quick one."

Bucky shrugged, "Alright. I guess I could lie around for an hour or two. Give me a chance to win my bet with Jones, anyway."

"You got your guess?" Jones asked, and Bucky handed him a folded sheet of paper. "Right there, Jones. I'll let you know when I've finished."

Jones nodded, pocketing it without looking at it so he wouldn't give anything away. "I'm picking out the most expensive bottle of scotch in the place."

"Me too, pal," Bucky promised.

Steve shook his head and threw an arm around Bucky's shoulders. He was proud he didn't flinch. "We'll see you fellas at lunch," Steve called back to the others as he guided Bucky away to officer country. His bedroll was all set up, and Bucky stretched out on it, feeling far more comfortable on the ground than he had every single one of the nights in the med tent.

"Thanks, Buck," Steve said, yawning and stretching out on his own bedroll. "I don't need long. Promise."

"Hey, no worries, pal," Bucky replied, settling in. He was pretty tired himself, and he finally felt a little less panicked. He let his eyes close figuring a cat nap wasn't the worst idea. It wasn't until the call for lunch sounded and he woke up to see Steve lounging and drawing and very much awake that he realized he'd been conned.

He shot Steve a look, "You enjoy your nap?"

Steve smiled, "You know what? Turns out I wasn't actually that tired."

Bucky glared, "You're such a punk."

"Sleep well?" he asked, all innocent. The jackass.

"Fine, thanks, but a simple, 'Hey, Bucky, you look tired. Why don't you go take a nap?' would have done the trick."

Steve looked skeptical, "Would it have?"

Bucky thought about it, "Don't know actually," he admitted. He shrugged, "Maybe?"

Steve shook his head, "Yeah, well I stand by my choice. Come on; let's go get some food." Bucky grumbled, but followed him out. They were all conspiring against him. Every last one of them.

The trip to London was uneventful, and while he infinitely preferred being out of the med tent and able to be around people again, he'd started feeling twitchy around any more than two people for long periods of time. And Steve just saw everything. He knew exactly how much Buck was struggling just with the everyday stuff and that just made it worse. It was hard to pretend everything was okay, when he had Steve by his side, knowing it wasn't. Steve let him take things at his own pace though. He didn't push and he didn't call Bucky on his lies. He just stayed right there by his side like a damn sentry. Bucky couldn't tell if he was annoyed by the silent guardian act, or relieved.

In any case, Steve had woken him twice from nightmares, he tended to get twitchy when in large groups for longer than ten minutes, and if anyone other than Steve touched him, he had to fight the automatic flinch. And he wasn't always successful. Though, Dugan and the guys, especially Dugan, seemed to be doing their level best to get him used to it again. Whenever he was around them, several of them would bump his shoulder, or swat the back of his head, or throw an arm around his shoulders. Only it was always too slow, too deliberate to be natural. They were telegraphing on purpose, trying to get him acclimated back to a normal reaction and to a normal level of physical contact once more. Even Falsworth, had taken to patting his shoulder in greeting whenever they met, when normally he wouldn't have touched him at all. They were good men, and Bucky trusted them with his life. He just hated that it was necessary. But it _was_. Something inside of him would just freeze up whenever someone touched him, and as usual, Steve was the exception. He supposed their friendship went far enough back that, even with Steve's new body, Bucky just couldn't register him as a threat. Even unconsciously so. That, at least, was something.

London was rather bleak, but according to Monty it always was. Still, it was level of civilization that Bucky hadn't experienced in quite some time, and he was determined to enjoy it. He had mandatory check-ins with the doctors every other day, but they were still accommodating his issues, and Steve hadn't caught on yet. Bucky didn't know how Steve would react, but Bucky didn't want to risk blowing the efforts Steve had made (with Bucky's direction) with the brass. If he kept things amicable, it was possible they'd let Steve pick his own team, and that was a blessing and luxury few COs got. Bucky wanted Steve to be one of them.

"You coming out on the town with me and the boys?" Bucky asked Steve. He looked like crap, he was sure, but he didn't much care. He'd had nightmares all night long, and he had another session with Anderson later, and they had more equipment at their disposal now, which invariably meant more tests. It didn't matter if he didn't look his best; he had bigger problems. Not to mention he was still, officially, without orders, which meant he could look however he damn well pleased.

"Yeah. This afternoon I have a meeting with the Colonel though about that map I saw. That's how I'm gonna make my move."

"I guess it would be too much to ask of you to hold that information hostage until they agree to your terms, huh?" Bucky asked wryly.

Steve looked scandalized, "I can't do that!"

"Thought as much. Shame," Bucky said, shaking his head.

"I think Phillips will let me pick. He doesn't seem to hate me as much as he did, and he has to know I'd have a much better perspective than anyone who hasn't actually been on the ground with these guys.

"Yeah, but Phillips is a bastard, and a mean one. Not to mention he can be slippery. I mean, think about it; this is a man who's got his own division now, with an in house link to MI6 via your Agent Carter, and Howard freaking Stark personally building him weapons. You don't get that kind of autonomy, those sorts of resources without being able to play the game."

"Yeah, I know, but I can't hold information like that hostage, Buck. It could save lives."

Bucky rolled his eyes, "You're not actually going to hold it hostage, Steve. Just pretend. They'll play ball."

Steve grimaced, "I can't do it."

"So how are you going to get your team, huh? Ask nicely?"

"It's a start. And if that doesn't work, then I'll just refuse to leave," Steve said with a shrug.

Bucky snorted, shaking his head and stood up. "Good luck with that, buddy."

"I don't know. Phillips seems to want me gone as soon as possible, most of the time. He might do it. Hey, where you going?" Steve said, sitting up as he realized Bucky was putting on his jacket. His very wrinkled jacket.

"I've got a meeting," Bucky said. "With Howard Stark, if you'd believe it."

"Stark," Steve said, sitting up straight. "What does he want?"

"Don't know," Bucky replied honestly. "Just asked if I'd drop by his crazy underground bunker lab."

"Oh. You want me to go with you?" Steve asked, and Bucky shot him a look, because as much as Bucky appreciated Steve looking out for him, _that_ was getting old. Seriously. Bucky didn't need to be coddled.

"Steve, I'm fine. I can go have a conversation with Howard Stark in a bunker on my own. I don't need you to hold my hand through it."

Steve, of course, rallied. "Course, Buck. I was just offering cause I know Howard, and he can be kind of a pain in the ass."

"Oh, that's why you were offering, huh?" Bucky said, glaring at Steve who was blinking innocently. Bucky didn't buy it for a second. Steve had been following him around for days, and when Steve wasn't there one or more of the others would suddenly just show up. He wasn't stupid; it wasn't a coincidence. They were all working together to make sure he was almost never alone. "Regardless, I _can_ handle it. I'll go meet Stark. You focus on getting your team, and we'll meet up later at that bar on the corner."

Steve looked hesitant for a moment, "When I get the go ahead . . . you think they'll say yes?"

Bucky rolled his heads. "They're all idiots. Every last one of them. Of course they'll say yes."

Steve smiled, "See you later then."

Bucky threw him a sloppy salute and moved out of the room and down towards the bunker. Howard found him on the way down. "Sergeant Barnes, there you are! Come on, right this way," he said putting his hand between Bucky's shoulder blades to usher him into one of the bunker labs. Bucky tensed slightly, both at the physical contact and the underground weapons lab. "You're on Rogers' team now, right, Sergeant?"

"Yeah," Bucky answered distractedly. The place was large and pretty impressive, even if Bucky wasn't particularly comfortable with the thick walls. Howard was full of bluster as the moved quickly through the lab. There were all sorts of crazy looking machinery scattered across the tables. Some were guns, and he was eager to take a look at them, but every time he slowed a bit, Howard pushed him along.

"Great. I want to talk guns with you, Sergeant."

"Guns?"

"That's right, my friend. Your file says you aced every gun course in basic, even ones not required of you, so I figure you more than know your way around a gun."

Bucky nodded, "I like guns."

Howard nodded, "What's not to like? So, you know your way around a gun, definitely not more than me, but you also have experience on the ground with them, which, despite my rather impressive credentials, is something I lack."

Bucky nodded. "Okay, so what can I do for you?"

Howard shook his head, "No, no, Sergeant; it's not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you, and what I'm going to do for you is build you some guns. Good guns. Custom guns. Which is why I need you. With your input, your experience on the ground, I can get you and your boys, custom weapons, lighter, more efficient, and just the way you want them. Whoever ends up on your team, you boys will get the best the SSR have to offer."

"That's pretty generous," Bucky said, impressed. He wasn't used to being _helped_ by the brass. Maybe this Captain America thing had more benefits than saving Steve from dropping dead from a random asthma attack.

"You'll need all the help you can get, taking on HYDRA. Now, I understand you're also a sniper."

"That's right."

"Well, Sergeant Barnes, I have a present for you," Howard said, grabbing a rifle off the table. "This is a prototype; Stark sniper rifle, M7. Bolt-action, magazine fed. Lighter than both the Lee-Einfield and the Springfield. Larger magazine. Higher accuracy, quieter shot in case you need a modicum of stealth. And my scope prototype is ten times better than anything else out there." He declared proudly. He handed Bucky the rifle, "Go on, take a look. I've been working on this puppy for the last week, with you in mind."

Bucky's brow shot up, "Didn't realize I was so special. Thanks, I guess." He held the rifle up and looked through the scope, testing the feel of it in his arms. It was lighter than he was used to but that was hardly a setback. The scope seemed pretty solid too. Bucky lowered the rifle, and checked the magazine. It was full. "These live?" he asked.

"Nah, blanks so you can test it out in here."

Bucky nodded, holding the rifle up high again. He aimed for the crest on the wall and pulled the bolt back, loading a round then firing. The action was smooth, as he pulled the bolt back again, ejecting the case and loading the next. It was smoother than any other rifle he'd used before, but it was also brand new, and therefore well oiled. There was no telling how long that would last in the field.

"It's smooth," he commented.

"Should stay that way," Stark replied. "You'll need to take decent care of it, of course. I mean, don't drop it in the mud or anything. Otherwise, she'll hold up. I built it with a new alloy I created myself. The inner workings should stay pretty well lubricated on their own.

"Nice," Bucky remarked, looking at the rifle in a new light.

"She'll need to be field tested, of course. Preferably soon. You'll want to get used to her, and then you can give me whatever notes you have for adjustments. I'll see about getting you out to one of the British training centers this afternoon."

Bucky nodded. "Sounds good to me."

"I've also got semi-automatics for when you're in direct fire. Again, lighter than a Thompson, again built with my own special alloy. Larger magazine, faster firing speed, smoother load, and even less kick on the fire. I've got handguns; dual action revolvers for the old souls that might join you, and semi-automatics for those of you actually engaged in this century."

Bucky snorted, because Dugan was steadfastly a revolver kind of guy. Swore by them. Dernier seemed to prefer them as well, though it was mostly because he'd been fighting with resistance groups and they had little access to newer weapons. Soldiers tended to be rather superstitious at times, and they stuck with their preferred weapons, even if there were newer and shinier stuff out. Bucky preferred a sniper rifle, but if one wasn't available, he'd take anything semi-automatic.

"Good call."

"You alright with testing them all this afternoon?"

"I'd be happy too," Bucky replied honestly, especially because he had another damn check-up in half an hour, and he wouldn't mind blowing off steam after.

"Glad to hear it. Any notes you have at all will be useful. Oh, I also have knives, if you're into that sort of thing," Stark offered.

"Yes," Bucky answered immediately. He hadn't been issued a new knife yet, he'd definitely gotten used to carrying them.

"Great. They're over here," Stark said, leading him to another table. "I got a standard issue pocket knife with a few extra features, and standard fighting knives. One of each good enough?"

"Yeah, should be fine," Bucky said, pulling the combat knife out of its sheath. It was shiny and new and Bucky smiled. "Thanks."

"No problem," Stark waved off the apology. "I want you boys to have the best possible equipment out there."

A thought popped into Bucky's head and he considered. "Best possible equipment, huh?" he asked, thinking of Dernier. "Let's talk explosives."

It was Stark's turn to look surprised, "You an explosives expert too, Barnes?"

"No, but we'll have one," Bucky declared confidently. "I want to talk remote detonators. Easily portable units with highly compatible receivers so that they can be attached to anything scrounged up in the field, but with a completely secure signal—can't be intercepted by any other radios, or something like that. We'll be behind enemy lines infiltrating enemy bases. If they can accidentally be set off by any communications HYDRA sends, they're not worth the risk."

"Huh," Stark said, nodding. "Sounds difficult. I like it. I'll start tonight."

"Great," Bucky grinned. Dernier was going to have kittens.

"Alright, now you've known Rogers the longest. What sort of firearms does he prefer."

Bucky snorted. "Steve's knowledge of guns extends to how to use them. He definitely doesn't have preferences. He'll use what you give him. You'd be better off giving him a better shield."

"Shield?" Stark asked, confused.

"Yeah, he uses a damn shield painted with an American flag. Piece of useless tin, honestly," Bucky grumbled his annoyance. "But he seems to like it."

"New shield. I think I can do that. Alright. I'll make sure the guns are sent with you this afternoon. We'll talk again tomorrow, how's that?"

"Sounds good to me. Thanks, Stark."

"No problem, Sergeant. Looking forward to working together. I'm heading back out. I'll walk with you to the medical center."

Bucky grimaced, "Great. Thanks." He hadn't realized Stark knew about his situation.

"Don't worry, pal. They're getting everything they need. It won't be much longer."

His expression went positively petulant, "Yeah? You read the file then?"

Stark gave a little shrug, but otherwise looked unrepentant. "I read everything that goes through the SSR."

"Great. Just great."

Stark patted his shoulder sympathetically and Bucky flinched. "Tough luck, pal. Don't worry though; few hours shooting stuff this afternoon, and you'll feel right as rain, my friend."

"If I don't, I'm blaming you," Bucky said as they neared the medical sector.

Stark shrugged, "Fair enough."

"Ah, there you are, Sergeant," Dr. Anderson greeted, "I was afraid you were going to run out on us again. I'm glad you didn't. And it looks like you've been sleeping better, too."

"Amazing what freedom does for one's sleep," Bucky muttered moodily.

Anderson smiled, all understanding, and that almost made it worse. Bucky would feel a lot less terrible about being an ass if Dr. Anderson wasn't so damn nice about it.

"Uh, maybe I'll just hold onto those knives for now," Howard said, holding out his hand and looking a bit skittish about it.

Bucky didn't even try to argue that it wasn't necessary. It probably wasn't, but he'd have a time convincing Howard of it. Reluctantly, he handed the knives back to Stark who then took a solid step away from Bucky, like he thought he'd try to snatch them back.

Bucky rolled his eyes.

"We'll try to make this quick, Sergeant," Anderson assured, stepping through the doorway first, because he knew Bucky would be uncomfortable with being boxed in.

"You want me to send for Rogers?" Stark offered.

"God, no," Bucky answered immediately. "The last thing I need is Steve hovering. Trust me."

Stark nodded. "Fair enough. Good luck, pal," he said, watching Bucky like he was watching someone on a death march.

"Thanks," Bucky said drily. He grit his teeth, fought down the building panic, and followed the doctor through the doorway. At least the medical tent in Italy had been above ground and lacking solid walls. This one was underground with _very_ solid walls, and Bucky wasn't a fan. Though they were still trying to make it easier on him. Instead of pine, they kept an assortment of flowers about the place, and they did all the tests in the front room so there was only one door to get through if he had a complete and utter break down and needed to bolt. That hadn't happened yet, but it had been a close thing his first appointment, and Bucky had skipped his second altogether. They'd given him a break though, once he promised he'd be present for his third checkup. He could only be thankful Steve wasn't there to see how far he had fallen—how screwed up he was now. Just thinking about the look on Steve's face made him feel sick.

"Please, have a seat," Anderson spoke easily.

"Right. Thanks, doc," Bucky replied, moving to the stool that'd been placed near the door for him. The doctor grabbed a blood pressure cuff and Bucky focused very intently on controlling his breathing in a smooth, easy rhythm, counting the beats methodically. It got him through the session.

In the end, Stark's guns were even more impressive than Bucky had expected, and while Bucky was still feeling pretty touchy after the doctor earlier, he was much better after spending the better part of three hours shooting things. He only had a few notes for Stark, and then the weapons would be field ready. Not to mention, they gave Steve his own team pretty easy, and the others didn't even think twice about signing on, proving they were just as big of idiots as he was. And they were idiots for this. No questions about it.

The following days passed quickly as the SSR planned their next steps. Steve had caught the locations of six separate HYDRA bases, but the weapons they'd built were sent to a seventh base not on the map. Bucky had heard Zola mention it, but no one knew where it was. Luckily, they had the army and British intelligence working twenty-four seven to locate that base, and in the meantime they just had to learn how to work together as a team and go blow up the bastards who'd cut him open. Bucky particularly liked that part of the plan. It made the part where he still had dreams about Zola cutting him up, and the part where he still had to see the doctor every other day so they could chart his vitals a little better.

"We're almost done, Sergeant," the Anderson assured him at yet another of their little sessions, and Bucky tried very hard not to clench his jaw.

"You said that ten minutes ago."

"And now we're even closer to being done," the doctor replied back easily. Bucky had to hand it to the man; Anderson had gotten pretty good at handling Bucky's moods as well as his general jumpiness.

"I can tell you want to tap that foot, Sergeant. Go ahead and tap away if it will give you something to do," the doctor said.

Bucky started tapping his foot, "Just didn't want to make you anxious."

The doctor smiled wryly, "Because I'm the one we're so worried about."

Bucky gave a little one armed shrug, so the needle still in his other arm wasn't jostled. "Well if you get anxious then I get anxious and that's usually bad."

"Indeed."

The door opened suddenly and Bucky jumped violently causing the needle to pull and jerk out of his skin. "Shit!" Bucky hissed, loosening his grip on his combat knife once he realized it was just a very wide-eyed private. He straightened back up and when he realized the doctor was looking at his knife he quickly hedged, "Um, it's not what it looks like."

The doctor raised a brow, unimpressed. The man definitely had kids. He was just too good at that look. "Looks like a knife to me, Sergeant Barnes. You saying it's not that?"

Bucky felt truly sorry for the man's kids. He looked to the private for help but he just stood there, wide eyed and silent. He looked back at Anderson and gave in, "Okay, it is what it looks like. Sorry, doc."

The doctor gave him a considering look, "Does it make you feel better?"

"Well . . . yeah. No offense, of course. But, yes."

"Are you planning on using it?"

"No."

"Then I'll allow it. But I don't want to see it. Put it away, Sergeant, and give me your arm. You're getting blood on your uniform," he said, gesturing to where the needle had been ripped away. Bucky looked down to see that his arm was indeed bleeding and it was soaking into the edge of his rolled up sleeve. "Oh shit," he swore, pocketing the knife quickly before pulling his sleeve up higher. The doctor automatically started tending to it.

"Was there something you need, Private?" the doctor asked, jolting the private back into action.

"Oh. Yes. Sorry. Colonel Phillips requests Sergeant Barnes' presence right away," he stammered uncomfortably.

The doctor nodded, and taped some gauze over Bucky's arm. "Well you're finished anyway, Sergeant. See you back in two days?"

Bucky didn't even bother hiding his distaste. He didn't have to anymore. "Right. Can't wait," he drawled as he left the room.

Steve was waiting outside the door when he reached Colonel Phillips command center. He was assuming they were there in order to be briefed on new information regarding the HYDRA base in France, which meant they'd be leaving soon. Hopefully before his next doctor visit. Whoever was already inside though sounded angry, but people were often angry during war, so Bucky didn't think much about it.

"Hey, where you been?" Steve greeted.

Bucky deflected, "Just around. What's going on in there?"

"Oh, that? Just some politics stuff I guess," Steve said, rocking back on his heels a bit.

"Huh," Bucky remarked looking around a bit. No one was looking at them, but not in a natural, too busy to bother looking at them sort of way. It was a very pointed, purposeful not looking that made Bucky curious and also set him a little on edge. "I feel like I've been called to the principal's office," Bucky remarked lightly. The pointed not looking continued and Steve made a little non-committal noise that had warning signs shooting down Bucky's spine immediately. He turned a suspicious look on his friend as things started to click into place, "Steve, _why do I feel like I've been called to the principal's office_?"

Steve shrugged lightly and far too casually. "Dunno."

Bucky glared, not buying it for a second. "Steve? Who's in there with Phillips?"

Steve, with hands in his pockets, rolled back on his heels again, a tell Bucky had learned when they were eight that always meant Steve had gotten them both in trouble and was refusing to admit it. "I believe it's Senator Reindhart."

Bucky's eyes widened in horror and he swore violently. _"Senator_? Oh god, Steve. What did you _do_?"

"I didn't do anything," Steve said with that wide eyed innocent look that had always won the nuns over. That same wide eyed innocent look that had made them all think it was Bucky leading Steve into trouble when it had always been the other way around.

"Bullshit, you didn't do anything," Bucky hissed. "I can't believe this. We're going to get canned before we even complete our first mission."

"We're not going to get canned," Steve said, sounding confident.

Bucky was about to argue, but the door slammed open and Senator Reindhart stormed out, followed by his aids. Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose as Colonel Phillips' very unhappy voice sounded through the doorway. "Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, I'd very much appreciate it if you got your asses in here _right now_."

Bucky shot Steve a dirty look that Steve ignored with practiced ease as they moved to stand before Phillips desk. Phillips looked _exceedingly_ unhappy, and Carter, who was also in the room, was looking rather harried.

"Did the good captain tell you what he did?" Phillips asked after a moment of very tense, very angry silence.

"If you ask him, he did nothing, sir," Bucky replied.

Phillips scoffed derisively. "Nothing. Captain Rogers—and you're very luck I am still calling you that—calling the senator a war profiteer to his face is not nothing."

Bucky covered his face with his hand and groaned. "You didn't. Tell me you didn't, Steve."

Steve gave a helpless little shrug, "I more implied than outright said. And I was just speaking the truth anyway, sir."

"I don't care if you were, Captain! You don't call a US senator a war profiteer when he can shut our whole division down! Because where would we be if they did, huh? You think any other division is equipped to take on Schmidt and HYDRA?"

"Sir, with all due respect—"

"No," Phillips snapped at him. "I never like what's following those words when they're coming from your mouth, Rogers. You were stupid, idiotic, and short-sighted. You are not allowed to speak to anyone higher rank then myself without me or Agent Carter with you. In fact, right now you aren't allowed to speak at all."

Steve gave a put upon sigh and the Colonel turned his attention to Bucky. "And where the hell were you, Sergeant Barnes?" he snapped angrily. "And why weren't you there to keep this idiot from doing something stupid?"

Bucky stiffened, due to both an automatic reaction to anyone calling Steve a name, and for the Colonel somehow blaming him for the whole crisis. "I was in my mandatory doctor appointment. The one one that was made mandatory by you, Colonel," he said, giving the Colonel a look that showed just how much he appreciated having the blame for this passed off on him.

At his words, the Colonel sighed, letting loose some of his outright fury. "Right. Well, maybe we'll just have to make sure Captain Rogers has a full-time babysitter instead of just a part-time babysitter. Thanks to you, Captain, Senator Reindhart is thinking the SSR, and by extension, your team, is unnecessary. You boys are going to show him he's wrong. You leave for France first thing in the morning, and Rogers, I don't want to see your face until you get back, am I understood?"

"Yes sir," Steve replied easily. "Should I go ahead and get out of your sight now?"

Phillips glared, not amused, "Get out of here. Both of you."

They didn't have to be told twice.

"A war profiteer?" Bucky hissed furiously. "You called a US senator a war profiteer?"

"He is, Bucky!" Steve said, full of righteous indignation. "You should have heard some of the stuff he was saying. He's got stock in several weapons companies and in the main tent making company the Army contracts with. He's using the war to get rich."

"I'm not saying he isn't, Steve, but did you really have to say something to him?"

"Well someone should! It's not right, Buck."

Bucky took one glance at Steve and sighed in defeat. Steve would never see it his way; not when he was worked up in a righteous fury. To Steve there was no difference between telling off a Senator and telling off a playground bully.

"The hell am I going to do with you?" he grumbled in defeat.

"Well, you can help me plan for France, huh?" Steve said, smiling at his victory.

Bucky followed him down the corridor, sighing grumpily, "Yeah, yeah."

They were silent for a few minutes as they moved through the corridors, but Bucky could feel Steve building up to something, and when he asked, "So, are we going to talk about the doctor thing?" Bucky wasn't surprised.

Bucky slid him a look and challenged, "Are we going to talk about how you're head over heels for Agent Carter?"

"I—I'm not," he protested feebly. "And even if I were, what does that have to do with anything?"

Bucky shrugged, "Nothing except that if you're going to make me talk about something I don't want to talk about, you're going to have to do the same."

Steve frowned at him for a moment before sighing as they reached their room, "Alright, fine. But you'll tell me if I need to get involved, right?"

"Course," Bucky replied, before gesturing to the map Steve had tacked up on the wall. "So let's see it."

As sergeant, he joined Steve in several of the planning meetings with the brass, but not all of them. During the one earlier that morning, he'd been busy schmoozing a couple of MPs in an effort to help them forget Dugan and Dernier's drunken parade through the base the night before. They were given a certain amount of leeway now that they were part of Captain America's team, but they hadn't even proven themselves in the field yet, so Bucky wasn't willing to take the chance. A nice bottle of black market scotch had done the trick, and now Bucky had the both of them doing his share of the field chores for the next three weeks. All in all, it had been a productive morning until the doctor's visit and Steve's stunt with the Senator.

"The pin I saw on the map puts it somewhere about here," Steve tapped the map, "Our friends in the area have reported a lot of activity in this area over here, so we sent a fly over and they think there's a structure right around here," Steve said, rolling out a more detailed map of France on his bunk and marking a spot.

Bucky frowned as he regarded the map. "I don't get it, Steve. That close to the Maginot Line, how're they keep from being found? Surely our forces on the ground would be able to confirm the base already."

Steve nodded and rolled out another map, this one of the topography. "I asked the same question. Apparently, it's on a mountain."

"Oh. Mountain base, huh? Dum's gonna be thrilled. He _loves_ climbing.

Steve smirked, "Try not to have too much fun with it, huh? Wouldn't want to have to save your ass."

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Completely unnecessary. Dugan can't catch me."

Steve snorted, and they both turned their attention back to the base. "Alright, so I'm thinking we're going to have to commandeer one of their vehicles to get in."

Bucky cracked his neck and considered. "If you were to build a base into the side of this mountain, where would you put it? Here?" he asked, indicating a likely spot on the map. Steve nodded and Bucky agreed. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. With that altitude, they're likely to only have one road coming in, and it probably twists and turns through this area right here. You've got steep cliff faces on either sides and a clear sightline down the one way in. So yeah, you're probably right. We'll need to stake out the road and catch a ride in. But then what?"

Steve considered, "Stark finish those detonators?"

Bucky grinned, "Yeah. You should have seen Dernier. I think he cried."

Steve chuckled, "Alright, then. We'll hitch a ride then break off into two groups. Dernier and another will go in stealth and set the charges while the rest of us go in through the front and draw their fire."

Bucky shot him a thoroughly unimpressed look, "Straight through the front, guns blazing? That's your plan?"

Steve gave a little shrug, "Well we might borrow a couple of Dernier's charges first, but yeah; that's the general idea."

Bucky sighed, "Well it's not the _worst_ plan I've ever heard. Send Jones with him and we at least stand a chance of Dernier not blowing us _all_ sky high, but you've got to realize our odds aren't exactly favorable. Just because these men will follow you into hell, it doesn't mean you should take them there."

"It's a work in progress," Steve admitted. "We won't really be able to refine until we're able to get close and watch it for a bit."

Bucky smirked, "Now that is the first sensible thing you've said all day."

Steve scoffed, "What do I need sensible for? That's what you're for."

Bucky was not amused, because it was that kind of thinking that led to Steve taking on an entire base alone. "You just summed up our entire childhood."

Steve looked him over before remarking primly, "Well there's no need to pout about it."

"What? I'm not pouting," Bucky protested as they rolled up the maps and tucked them away. "I'm just saying that our entire childhood consisted of you being insensible which forces me to be sensible so that I could keep us both alive."

"Pouting," Steve said again as he followed Bucky out of the room so they could find the others and tell them to pack up. Seven men against a whole HYDRA base? They were going to be thrilled. "Really. You're definitely pouting right now."

"I'm not pouting, Steve," Bucky grumbled annoyed.

"We'll ask the others. They'll tell ya; you're pouting."

"I'm not pouting, damn it!" he snapped.

Ten minutes later, Jones took one look at him and declared, "Oh yeah. You're definitely pouting."

Bucky swore and stalked out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** This is the fourth and final chapter of The Howling Commandos. I started this story because I rewatched CA:TFA and all the things that weren't said drove me crazy. It was never meant to be as long as it turned out to be, but sometimes things just get away from you. That being said, this wasn't quite the story I set out to write, but I enjoyed it anyway and I hope you do too. Thank you.

 **PART FOUR**

Five days later Bucky was high in a tree, breathing easier than he had the entire time spent he'd spent in London or the camp in Italy. For the first time in weeks he felt calm and like the ground was solid beneath his feet, even if he was currently in a tree. He'd found a comfortable position with a clear view of the base, he'd notched his rifle into the tree in such a way that it wouldn't kill his back while looking through scope for hours on end, and he was currently watching the movement on the base while Steve, Dernier, and Jones scouted out the road. It was peaceful and he would have found it soothing except for the fact Dugan wouldn't shut up on the ground below him and Morita was chatting up their radios like a girl.

He frowned and did the best he could to block them out as he looked at his watch to confirm the time it had taken guard number five to reappear again. Thirty minutes. He moved his scope down and to the right, and waited for guard number six to reappear.

They'd been out there for three days, and he was sleeping a little better, which didn't make much sense to him. He was calmer too, out here where he didn't have to fight the need to be constantly alert. On base it wasn't natural. They were underground and safer than most everyone else in London. If he walked around base, tense and grabbing his gun at every unexpected noise, he was given strange or pitying looks. Out here though, he could be as tense and aware as he felt the need to be, and it was completely acceptable None of the others were looking at him like they needed to fix him, and out here he didn't feel like he needed fixing. It was a relief as was the knowledge that he could still do his job. He'd been a little concerned that Azzano had affected him too much, that he'd be spooked and wouldn't be able to do his job properly. But that wasn't the case. He was calm and he was alert, and his stamina surprised him. He'd spent so long strapped to a table or unconscious in a cell that he'd been concerned that he wouldn't be able to keep up with the boys. They'd spent weeks working and then two weeks eating everything in sight, so they were in good shape, physically. He'd spent weeks being tortured and had been confined to a small room for the first few days of being back. He was concerned his muscles would give out on him, that his mind would see shadows where none existed, that he'd be a liability. But he wasn't. He was keeping up with the others without having to try, and he hadn't lost any of his sniper's focus. He could sit in a tree observing the base for hours if he had to.

Or at least he'd be able to if the others would just shut up.

Bucky groaned when neither Morita or Dugan stopped talking after five more minutes. "Damn chatty Cathy's down there. Not like snipers work in solitude and silence. Not like I need to concentrate to track and clock shift changes. And of course, as usual, I'm the only one in a damn tree. Dugan ever climb a tree in his life? No. I'm the one freezing my ass off up here," he grumbled under his breath.

Of course, no one heard him and Morita continued on while Bucky was trying very hard to focus and pick out any overlaps with the guards' routes, " _So then I said, 'Well if that's the way you want it, I'll just set my charges off now,' and then he said—_ "

Bucky had enough. Angrily, but without taking his eye from the scope, he snatched up his radio and snapped, "Morita, so help me, if the next words out of your mouth aren't, 'Sorry, I'll shut my big ass mouth' I will shoot you in the ass."

" _Well damn, Barnes. I was just getting to the best part_ ," Morita complained. Bucky could hear Falsworth laughing next to Morita from where they were keeping watch over their temporary camp.

"I don't care," Bucky replied. "Just shut up or don't use the damn radios. I'm trying to focus here. And, Dum, why don't you actually make yourself useful and write down these numbers for me. A21-B15-C19-D11-E30 and F26."

"You clocking the guards' rounds?" Dugan asked from the ground, but it came in over the radios as well.

"Yeah, but it's not looking promising. They have their routes set up so that someone always has the road or the loading dock in sight. I mean, they're perfectly synchronized each and every time. We're counting on the element of surprise here, but looks like Schmidt is being a lot more careful after Azzano. They're all on alert."

"Well maybe we'll get lucky and Cap and the others will find something," Dugan replied.

" _How about it Jones_?" Morita's voice came over the radio. " _Found anything_?" Jones was listening into the radio in case the others needed to get in touch with them. It would be too dangerous for them all to be listening in—to easy to get distracted, too easy to miss something of their own surroundings.

Bucky swiveled his rifle a bit to scan the tree line for a patch of blue. He found them fairly quickly, headed back in the direction of their camp. Automatically, he started scanning the area for signs of trouble.

" _As a matter of fact we did_ ," Jones was saying. " _There's a blind spot on the road that'll be perfect for carjacking."_

" _Great. That's something at least. We can get there. Don't know what we'll do when we get there, but we can get there,_ " Falsworth replied.

"Shoot people and blow stuff up. That's what we'll do," Dugan declared firmly.

" _Shoot people and blow stuff up_ ," Monty repeated sounding thoroughly unimpressed. " _What a comprehensive plan, Dugan. Shoot people and blow stuff up. Need I remind you we are seven against two hundred_?"

"So we'll each shoot and blow up roughly thirty people? It'll be fine."

" _Yes, we all need to shoot thirty people. They only need seven mean to shoot one_ ," Falsworth snapped in frustration. Bucky huffed in annoyance as he swiveled his gaze about, still checking to make sure there were no enemy soldiers near Steve, Jones, and Dernier. " _Forgive me if I don't find those odds particularly alluring_."

"Quite your whining, limey," Dugan replied.

" _Alright, you prat, I swear—_ " Falsworth started but Bucky cut him off, because he'd spotted a small squad moving through the woods and they weren't that far from the others. "Everyone, shut up!" he snapped furiously. "Jones, tell Steve there's a squad of six men moving through the trees to your left, about a hundred yards away from you. Looks like a routine sweep. They don't seem to be looking for anything in particular, and there's nothing that suggests they've found you or they know where you are. I can take them out, but the base would know they're missing, which means they'd know we're coming."

Everyone was silent as Jones relayed the message to Steve and came back with, " _Cap agrees that we shouldn't engage. Any ideas_?"

Bucky scanned the hillside quickly before finding something suitable, "Yeah, turn due west and continue for about a hundred and fifty feet. There's some large rocks that you can take cover in. I'll keep an eye on the squad and warn you if they're heading your way."

" _Copy that_ ," Jones said, and Bucky watched as they turned west before finding the squad once more. They were moving through the trees, systematically, twenty feet apart. They seemed relaxed though, so they probably had no idea they weren't alone. After about half an hour they were far enough up the mountain that Bucky could call Steve and the others back down. "Alright, you guys are in the clear."

" _Thanks, Sarge. Cap says everyone meet back at camp_." Jones replied.

Bucky slung his rifle over his back and quickly made his way down from the tree. Before long, they were back in the small clearing where they'd made camp and Bucky was marking the edges of the base and the guards' watch while Steve was covering the road and the best spot to get their ride.

"Agent Carter said they'd send us a couple of platoons as soon as we finished recon," Falsworth said. "So I'm not quite sure why we're planning this as a small team infiltration."

"Because platoons won't do us any good, Monty," Bucky replied.

Steve nodded and indicated the road. This is the only way in, and most of the road is heavily visible from the base. There's no way we could get even one platoon of men up there. They'd send down a tank and then the men would be fish in a barrel. We're on our own for this one."

Jones shook his head, "Didn't we pick this base first because we thought it'd be easiest?"

"Shows what we know, huh?" Morita smirked.

"It's doable," Steve spoke. "We already know these places are highly explosive. As long as the rest of us can distract them long enough, Dernier to get the explosives in and get out, then we'll just detonate and run."

Bucky nodded agreeing, "Not necessarily smart, but definitely doable. . . . We'll need a tank," Bucky realized.

Steve nodded immediately. "Exactly. If we can get a tank up there that should buy us enough time for Dernier to do his thing."

"We'll need a fall back strategy so we can get far enough away before the place blows," Jones said.

Morita shrugged. "I got some heavy duty grenades from Stark. They'll probably keep them distracted enough for us to make our getaway"

"I call driving the tank!" Dugan declared, and Steve shrugged, allowing it.

"We should go tonight," Bucky said, looking at Steve.

Steve nodded and at the others' questioning looks, explained. "This is technically allied territory at the moment. They won't risk moving something as auspicious as a tank during the day. We'll move in and stake out the blind spot tonight, and again tomorrow night. If we don't get a tank by then, we'll have to reevaluate our plan. We'll set up a watch and sleep light. Four man watch. I'll watch both nights."

Bucky nodded and said, "Me, Jones and Dum Dum tonight. Monty, Dernier, and Morita tomorrow. Dum, you're still on third watch."

"What?!" he exclaimed angrily "You have to be joking."

"Nope. Third watch. You're lucky I'm not making you take it both nights," Bucky smirked.

"Fuck you, Barnes," Dugan growled angrily.

Bucky grinned, "I think you mean 'Fuck you, _Sergeant_ Barnes.'"

Dugan scowled and turned to Steve, "Are you going to let him get away with this?"

Steve's eyes widened in something like panic and he threw his hands up. "No way. Keep me out of this. This is between you and Bucky."

Morita snorted, "Did anyone else hear, 'This is between you and your father'?"

The others snickered and Jones asked, "If Sarge is dad, does that make Cap mom?" They laughed louder and Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Come on; I could totally do better than him."

"No you couldn't," Steve disagreed, before getting down to business once more. "It'll be getting dark soon. Everyone check your gear and get ready. Anything we don't need we'll leave here. Weapons are our only priority. Got it?"

"Yes sir."

The first night was a bust and no one slept particularly well huddled up in the hillside, so Steve let them rest more during the day while they took turns keeping a watch on the base. The second night they got lucky.

"Everyone up; incoming," Steve spoke quietly, but they were all instantly awake.

"What does it look like?" Bucky asked, moving to the edge of the rocks so he could get a glimpse of the headlights down at the base of the mountain.

"Tank and a truck. We're in business," Steve replied. "Truck's in front."

"You want me to take out the truck?" Bucky guessed. If he took out the driver, they could stop the tank long enough to Steve to take the tank. Then Dernier and Jones could go in the truck and get their part of the mission underway while the rest of them were wreaking havoc in the tank.

Steve nodded, "Yeah. Go."

Bucky slung his rifle over his shoulder and scrambled up the rocks and up the road. When he had the exact part of road they'd be taking the vehicles in his scope, he settled in to wait, though he didn't have long to wait at all. In less than a minute, the truck was in his sight. He couldn't see the driver in the dark, but he took a chance and aimed his rifle at roughly head level, then took a shot at both the driver's side and the passenger side. He grinned as the truck came to a quick stop, and he kept the scene in his rifle scope until the small skirmish that broke out was taken care of. Then he stood, shouldered his beautiful and amazing rifle once more, and hurried back down road to the others.

"Damn, Barnes!" Morita declared as soon as he was in ear shot. "Two head shots! How could you even see them?"

Bucky shrugged, "I couldn't."

Jones laughed appreciatively and Dugan let out a low whistle as they finished dragging the bodies to the side of the road.

"Alright, let's go," Steve said, pushing them towards the vehicles. "Jones, Dernier, you ready?"

"Yeah, man," Jones nodded easily. "We'll be fine."

They didn't wait for Jones and Dernier to park before they let out a rain of tank fire on the base. Everything afterwards was complete chaos as Monty released blast after blast from the tank. Morita, Bucky, and Steve abandoned the tank in favor of ease of mobility, and Morita took the opportunity to toss grenades into the holes Monty blasted in the base walls while Steve provided cover fire, and Bucky took out the patrolling guards with his rifle, along with anyone else who tried to take them on from higher up than flood them on the ground. Despite the well set up watch, it was obvious they'd taken them by complete surprise, and the guards made themselves sitting ducks as they tried to pour out of the base. He could practically hear Dugan cackling in glee as the tank blasted the base again and again and Morita had abandoned the grenades in favor of pinning guards in with the semi-automatic assault rifle Stark had given them. It was fiery chaos. Absolute chaos and Bucky couldn't help but grin as he took shot after shot with his sniper rifle. It was truly a thing of beauty, and if Howard Stark wasn't the richest man Bucky had ever met, he'd buy him a case of cigars.

"Incoming!" Bucky shouted as a truck barreled around to where they were. He was ready to fire on the driver when he realized Dernier was waving a white flag out the side of the truck. "It's Jones and Dernier!" he called loudly so no one else would fire on them.

"Need a ride?!" Jones shouted from the driver's side.

Bucky scrambled towards the truck. He jumped in the back then started laying cover fire as the others hurried forward. As soon as Monty and Dugan were out of the tank, Morita was there, tossing a grenade in. Dernier abandoned the passenger seat, and Jones slid over letting Steve jump in behind the wheel, and Morita jumped in the back shouting, "Go! Go!"

Steve peeled away from the base as the tank exploded violently, washing them all in a wave of heat and forcing them to dive down to avoid fiery shrapnel.

"Fuck, Morita!" Bucky snapped irritably, because that had just been _too close_ , but he was drowned out by the sudden loud series of explosions as parts of the base blew violently to pieces, making the truck tremble even as they moved further and further away.

Dugan and Dernier let out loud cheers as they watched the place go up and burn from the back of the truck. Steve kept speeding them quickly down the mountain without the use of headlights to better cover their position, and Jones was in the front seat trying to reach base on their radio while Morita talked him through it. Bucky watched the place burn like mad and shook his head, grinning at Dugan and Dernier who were still going on about the explosion with the odd input of Morita as he helped Jones. Falsworth grinned wide and offered Bucky a cigarette, and he accepted immediately, grinning himself as he took a puff and settled back in the truck.

"Damn it, Jones, you're useless at this," Morita suddenly declared. "Get back here and let me do it."

Jones shrugged easily and moved to the back so Morita could move up front and take over the radio. Jones was their translator, and he was smart as hell, but he couldn't work the radios for shit. That was Morita's job."

"What's he saying, Gabe?" Falsworth asked, nodding towards Dernier who was speaking too fast for any of them to understand and gesticulating wildly with his hands. They'd all picked up a bit of French in their time with Dernier, but at the moment he was talking a mile a minute and Bucky had no clue what he was saying.

Up front, Morita finally got them through to base.

Jones replied, "Apparently he's got pals in the area who'll put us up for the night and supply us with free alcohol. Free French buddies."

"Free alcohol? I like the sound of that," Dugan declared.

"What's not to like?" Bucky agreed, taking another drag on his cigarette.

From the front, Peggy began to rant. " _Are you telling me that you didn't call us for reinforcements, but instead took on an entire base on your own?_ ** _Again_**?"

Steve sounded hesitant as he replied, "We would have called for the reinforcements, but they wouldn't have done us any good—" he was cut off when the fire reached the weapons store of the base, resulting in a truly massive explosion—the biggest one yet. Dugan, Dernier, and even Falsworth let out huge cheers as Bucky cackled delightedly.

" _What was that?_ " Peggy snapped furiously.

"Weapons floor of the base just exploded," Morita answered. "Whole place just crumbled. It was loud because we're still pretty close."

Dugan, Dernier, Jones, and Falsworth were singing now—a loud uproarious ballad about Hitler with his pants down. Dernier was singing it in French, but it translated the same. Bucky grinned wide, cigarette held lightly between his teeth.

" _I can't talk to you idiots_ ," Peggy snapped and then there was another voice on the line. " _Good work, men. There's an air field about twenty miles north east. We'll have a plane there in just under an hour and we'll get you boys back home_ ," Colonel Phillips remarked, sounding calm as a cucumber, contrasting Peggy's fury.

"Actually sir," Steve spoke. "Dernier has some Free French friends nearby and I was thinking we could turn this into a diplomatic mission as well—make some new friends and contacts. The more allies we have in the resistant groups, the better."

Colonel Phillips' reply was wry, " _And if they have food and alcohol, all the better, right_?"

"Sir—"

Phillips cut him off. "C _ut the shit, Rogers. I know exactly what's going on here, but I'm going to allow it. Only because it's actually not a bad idea. You boys are a bit of a unique crew, and you would probably do very well as our liaison to the resistant groups. You have until tomorrow afternoon, and then I'm sending a plane. You got it?_ "

"Yes sir," Steve replied immediately.

" _And when you boys arrive, I want you respectable. I heard about the trouble the Corporal and Dernier got themselves into before you boys left. Honestly, I don't know how Barnes got them out of that._ "

"Years of practice from what I hear, sir," Morita quipped, making Bucky snort and Steve scowl.

" _Indeed. But as I said; I expect you respectable. Bribery won't get you out of trouble with the MPs again_."

"Of course, sir," Steve promised.

" _Call back with the coordinates. Enjoy your night, boys_." And with that, Colonel Phillips' voice cut out. Dugan cheered again as Dernier excitedly told them all about his pals in the Free French, not caring if Jones was the only one who could understand him.

Two hours later they were packed into a farm house with thirty loud, drunk Frenchmen. Dernier's pals had welcomed them all with open arms, and after Dernier spoke to them for a few minutes, presumably explaining what he'd been up to, the Frenchmen had cheered for them before opening a hatch in the floor and bringing out cases of liquor. The black market stuff. Bucky had been given his own bottle of French brandy, which he accepted gratefully. The revelry was in full swing as Falsworth pounded away on a piano and the men sang loudly. There was also meat and cheese and bread about, and Bucky had taken advantage of the real food and gotten comfortably full on the food and liquor before settling back in a corner near the door. He watched Dugan in amusement, who was red faced and swearing violently as he arm wrestled with a bear of a Frenchman. Morita was at his back cheering him on loudly, waving a bit of cash in the air while Dernier collected bets from his comrades. Jones was in another group of men gathered around Falsworth, singing loudly and in French.

Bucky watched them all with a smirk on his face, but as the minutes dragged by, he realized he needed air. The feeling had been slowly growing in him for the past half hour until it was so urgent under his skin, he felt like he'd snap if he didn't get out. Moving abruptly he quietly slipped through the door and out into the yard. It was cold, but that just made the air feel fresher and cleaner in his lungs as he tried to still his slightly racing heart. He'd felt calm and together for the whole of their mission, and he'd been hoping that meant he'd turned some sort of a corner. He should have known better. The mission had given him something to focus on. He'd been actually doing something instead of sitting around feeling useless, and that had made a difference. Now though, when there was no mission, there was nothing to fill his mind, nothing to distract him from Zola and the slight panic he almost always felt pushing around the edges of his mind. And apparently, he still wasn't great at being in large groups of people in small spaces. He'd never had that problem before. Bucky had always been extremely social, but now he found that he could only manage for small amounts of time before he needed space in which to breathe. It was ridiculous. It was weak.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Half a bottle of brandy hadn't even taken the edge off the feeling. He barely even felt the alcohol in his system at all. He'd had the same problem in London.

"Hey, what are you doing out here?" Steve asked, dragging him out of his thoughts.

Bucky straightened, "Just needed some air. Where've you been?"

"Talking to base. You still partying or you want to help me with something?" Steve asked. He was carrying a map and he gestured to the porch where the light was better.

Bucky followed him immediately, "Happy to help. Brandy?" he asked, passing the bottle to Steve so he could take a swig.

"Thanks," Steve replied. There was a small table on the porch and Steve spread the map out on it. The brandy went beside it, and Bucky focused in on the map immediately. "A few weeks ago the allies moved through to the southeast to push against the Siegfried Line here and fortify the Maginot Line here," he spoke, indicating two areas on the map. "Right here is a tiny little town called Le Motier," he said, indicating a spot on the map, not too far from them. "They're mostly farmers and the Germans had taken over the town for their food and labor. When the allies moved through, they kicked them out, but when they left, they didn't leave a force behind for protection. It's just a tiny place with no real strategic value, so they gave it up, knowing the Germans would likely just take it back."

Bucky could see where this was heading and he shook his head, amused. "Only you, Steve. We come here to party and you find us a cause."

"I didn't mean to," Steve protested, then nodded towards the door. "Our new friends told me about it. A lot of them have family there."

"So you want to go in and kick out the Germans," Bucky guessed.

"That's the size of it."

"And then what? How do we ensure that when we leave, the Germans don't take it back again?" Bucky asked.

"Well, ideally, we beat them so badly that there aren't enough of them to come back, but since there just seems to be more all the time, we leave it to our Free French friends. They want to take the town back, and protect it themselves."

"So we help them take the town," Bucky summarized, looking at the map. "Shouldn't be too hard. They can't have much of a force there. The town wouldn't be able to support that many."

Steve nodded, "Exactly, and we'd be going in with our new friends which gives us thirty or forty extra guns."

"Phillips approve this?" Bucky asked, because that was important. He had no doubt they'd take the town even if Phillips had told them no, but if that were the case, Bucky needed time to make up an excuse for disobeying orders.

"Only because it's good for relations, but he's only giving us two days starting tomorrow," Steve said. "According to him, if we can't take the town before then, it's tough luck for them."

"Two days isn't a lot of time," Bucky frowned. "Maybe we should go in and stop the guys from drinking all of France," Bucky said wryly. Steve looked pointedly at the bottle Bucky had done decent work on and Bucky shrugged, taking another swig that he still could barely feel, "I can hold my liquor."

Steve chuckled, but shook his head, "We'll let them enjoy themselves for tonight. We won't start until after noon."

Bucky smiled, "Fair enough. You want to go tell our new friends the good news?"

"Only if you come with me," Steve said. And Bucky nodded, because he was feeling a little better after the fresh air, and now they had another mission to focus on. It would help hold off that panicky feeling for a while.

He took another drink, and followed Steve back into the house. The announcement led to another round of celebratory drinks, and it was dawn before everyone found a spot on the floor to sleep it off.

Bucky woke up a little bit before noon to Dugan's loud guffaws and the others' snickers.

"Morning, Sarge," Morita greeted him, sounding delighted and immediately putting Bucky on edge.

"What?" he grumbled, looking at the rest of the group warily. Steve couldn't even get a word in, he was snickering so much.

"Make a new friend?" Jones grinned, gesturing to Bucky's sniper rifle. Bucky's sniper rifle, that Bucky had wrapped himself around in the early morning. He blinked, rather startled to find he was hugging the rifle protectively to his chest. And then he groaned, because the others looked so thrilled and he knew there was no way he was going to be able to live it down.

"Come on," he groaned, but it was no use. They were still snickering.

"No, Buck," Steve finally managed to get out. "It's great. When we were six, you gave your teddy bear to Rebecca to help her with her nightmares. It's great you have a sleeping buddy again."

The others howled and cackled more and Bucky glared at Steve's wide grin.

"Yeah, yeah, real funny," he grumbled sitting up. He quickly checked over the rifle to make sure he hadn't messed anything up in his sleep.

"So, have you named it yet?" Falsworth asked as soon as they'd gathered themselves, causing a fresh round of snickers.

Bucky rolled his eyes and knew there was no way he'd be living this down any time soon. Which meant the best thing to do was to fully commit to it. It could be worse; they could be worried about his recovery and the fact that he apparently felt the need to sleep with his rifle. Instead they were joking with him and giving him crap about it, which was undoubtedly the better option.

"Yeah," Bucky declared firmly. "Maria."

The others cackled and howled once more. "You know, Barnes," Jones laughed. "It's good you finally got yourself a steady girl. I'm glad you're finally settling down."

Steve looked like he was about to choke and Bucky stood up, shouldering his rifle who was now apparently named Maria. "You guys are just jealous of what Maria and I have. And if you are done being jealous, I do believe we have a town to take back. Right Captain?" Bucky asked, giving Steve a hard look.

Steve needed a moment to pull himself together, but he finally managed. "Right. Let's get to it."

The next two days passed quickly, and over all, they worked even better together than Bucky had expected, and they were able to take back Le Motier without a hitch and no casualties. The force had indeed been small; only large enough to keep the town in line and transport supplies back behind the Siegfried line for their pals. It was almost laughingly easy to take the town, and when they succeeded, their new friends threw them another party, with the freed villagers this time. With the celebration taking place outside in the village, Bucky didn't even get claustrophobic, and he'd had a steady stream of dance partners all night. When he stepped to the fringes of the party, it was because he was tired and needed to catch his breath, not because he was panicking and fighting for air.

Steve moved over to his side, offering him some more brandy, "Feeling more like yourself?" he asked him, smiling a little.

Bucky downed the drink and smirked, "Yes, actually."

There was enough naked relief on Steve's face for Bucky to know Steve had been worrying about him a lot more than he was letting on, which of course was fairly typical for Steve, though totally unnecessary. "Good. That's . . . that's good, Buck."

Bucky huffed a sigh before shooting him a fairly exasperated look, "You don't have to worry about me, Steve."

Steve rolled his eyes. "How many times have those exact words come out of my mouth, huh, Buck?"

"Well I'm pretty sure you never called me Steve, so maybe not those _exact_ words," Bucky smirked.

Steve wasn't amused. "Not the point, Buck. How many times growing up did I tell you not to worry about me, and how many times did you stop worrying? Of course I'm going to worry."

"Well you don't need to. I'm fine," he said, but at Steve's accusing look, he amended, "Okay, mostly fine. Point is, I'm gonna be fine. Just need some time, you know?"

Steve nodded, "Yeah I know, and that's okay. Really. But you'll tell me if you need anything, right?"

"The only thing I need is more of this right here," Bucky said honestly. "I just need to be able to do something. And payback, well that helps too."

Steve grinned, "Well, we certainly did something here, huh?"

"Yeah," Bucky smiled, nodding at the revelry. "Yeah, we did. Blowing up that base was pretty cathartic too."

Steve nodded and then looked up at the sky. "Stark's coming," he said, and sure enough Bucky heard a plane closing in.

"I'll get the boys," Bucky said, moving off.

The goodbyes were friendly, and on Jones and Dugan's parts, exceedingly friendly as they were both thoroughly kissed by grateful and pretty French women. Dugan was grinning like a fool as they climbed into the plan, and that grin didn't fade as they climbed into the air.

"Well you boys don't do things halfway, do ya?" Howard Stark drawled from the cockpit. "Not only do you blow up an entire base on your own, you free a town and make lifetime allies with some bomb happy Frenchmen."

"We do what we can," Steve replied.

"Well you've made a name for yourselves these last few days," Howard continued. "Senator Grant just so happened to be visiting and he caught wind of your team. You boys are the new American heroes. Well, I guess it's not really new for you, Rogers. But the rest of you; new American heroes."

"American heroes," Bucky said nodding. "Great. What does that mean?"

"It means they're going to capitalize on you boys for the war effort. You're going to be household names, they're even talking about adding you to the Captain America comic books. They're calling you the howling commandos."

"The what? What kind of name is that?" Bucky complained.

"Don't look at me; Senator Grant came up with it. Prepare to be accosted by reporters us soon we get to base. They want interviews and photographs. So . . . you might want to sober up."

"Oh shit," Dugan realized. The others snorted.

"Don't worry, boys. Just smile and it'll be over quick," Steve assured them.

"Oh that's right. You've done this before," Bucky said. "That makes this your fault, right?"

"Hey now," Steve straightened. "It's not my fault."

"Yeah it is," Bucky replied. "You brought your fame and tainted all of us with it."

"What? That's not fair," Steve complained.

Morita scoffed, "Hey, what are you complaining about? We're going to be famous. You know what this means? They'll take care of my family. They'll have to."

"True," Bucky nodded. "Congratulations, man. You deserve it, pal."

Howard's head swung around from the cockpit and he looked startled, "Your family is in an internment camp?"

"Six months now," Morita replied. Steve's expression was dark.

"You're serious?" Howard demanded, not looking at the air at all. Bucky could only hope there were no other planes flying their way. "But you're a damn national hero!"

Morita shrugged, "Hey, it doesn't make sense to me either."

Howard floundered, turning back to the sky, "Well . . . shit . . ."

"You said it, pal," Morita replied.

Steve shook his head, sickened. "Surely there must be someone I can talk to."

"No," came about five different voices, including Morita.

"Absolutely not," Howard continued. "You're not allowed to talk to anyone after that stunt with Reindhart."

Steve rolled his eyes, "That was nothing."

"No, it was stupid," Bucky countered.

Howard nodded, "That lecture you gave Reindhart almost got the entire SSR shut down."

"He was profiteering," Steve argued. "He cares more about his personal profit than our guys on the ground."

"No one's arguing that, pal, we're just telling you how stupid you are for saying that to his face," Bucky replied.

Steve grumbled rather petulantly, "Well someone needed to."

"Yeah, maybe just wait till they decide we're indispensable in this war, huh? Better for all of us that way," Howard replied. "Not that it matters anymore, I suppose. You won't even be able to talk to Grant without Phillips and Carter there with you. And on that note, you might to steer clear of Carter a little longer. The HYDRA base did not help."

"Oh . . ." Steve said, looking positively forlorn.

Bucky patted his shoulder sympathetically, "She'll cool off."

Howard called back from the cockpit, "I'm at least fairly certain she won't shoot at you this time. . . . But . . . bring the shield. Just in case. Oh, and when you're giving those interviews, don't forget who made you your weapons, huh?"

Bucky snorted, "You want to write us up some cards so we can make sure your guns are properly advertised?"

Stark tossed him back a smirk and said, "Nah. Maybe just mention you named the rifle I gave you Maria and that you sleep with her every night. That's probably better advertising than anything I can come up with."

The others howled in laughter and Bucky glared at Steve, who was trying in vain to keep a straight face. "What the hell, Rogers! You told Stark?"

"I just wanted him to know he makes good guns," Steve said, holding his hands up innocently.

"Hey, pal, I'm honored, really," Stark insisted from the open cockpit. "Best compliment I've ever gotten."

Bucky rolled his eyes "Whatever. I don't want to hear it."

"Sure thing. You just tell me whenever Maria needs maintenance. I'll take good care of her."

Bucky glared and did his best to ignore all the snickering.

Howard was right; in a matter of weeks, everyone knew them, and within a couple of months they were the most famous names in the war: Captain America and his Howling Commandos. It was utterly bizarre, and if they were given certain leeway in the beginning that was nothing compared to after they got famous. They reported directly to Colonel Phillips and no one else. They didn't have to follow the same rules as everyone else, they were involved almost exclusively in special operations, hell, they didn't even have to wear the same uniform, and were instead allowed to pick from a selection. Bucky ended up with a rather sharp blue coat that he knew did wonders for his eyes, if the nurses' reactions were anything to go by. That was Senator Grant's man's idea. They were a unit representing multiple countries and multiple races, and apparently, embracing that was good for publicity. Bucky grew particularly attached to his coat, and treated it the same way Dugan treated his ridiculous bowler hat, and Monty treated his beret.

Every time they returned to base between missions they were accosted by more interviewers and more photographs. The more buildings they burned, the more forces they decimated, the more they put themselves in the public eye. On their last mission, they'd even had to play host to film crew so the people could see Captain America and the Howling Commandos "in action." Bucky hadn't exactly been expecting anything like it. He didn't particularly mind most of the time, but there were issues that came up. For one, Bucky was almost always requested in the interviews. Sometimes all the Commandos were there, but a lot of times it was just him and Steve, and the questions were always similarly trite as the reporters sought to glorify the war for the people back home. No one really wanted to hear the hard stuff, and that was fine; Bucky got it. Still, he didn't necessarily like it, but he got it.

Months went by, and they took out HYDRA bases and smaller outposts all over Europe, but they also found plenty of side jobs. Steve was good at that; finding them a cause after they'd just finished a mission. They freed towns, blew up bridges being used for Nazi and HYDRA transport, even assisted in a battle or two when they came across them, which made them real popular with not only the British, French, and American infantries, but also with all the local resistance groups and even the locals themselves. They'd made friends all over Europe so when Steve called base about one of his causes, they almost always said yes.

When the Commandos weren't out in the field, wreaking havoc, they were in London wreaking havoc. They did impossible work out in the field, and Phillips liked to give them breaks after weeks behind enemy lines, but breaks meant all the Commandos were back at base, underfoot and causing trouble. Bucky had to frequently find new and ever more creative ways to keep the boys out of trouble with the MPs, and Steve could barely be left alone without causing some sort of disaster, though in London, Bucky could frequently pass the duty of "Steve sitting" off on Agent Carter, which she allowed partially out of sympathy to Bucky, who was still having to frequently visit Dr. Anderson, and partially because of her feelings for Steve. With Anderson, the brass, the MPs, and the ever pressing reporters, being in London felt like a war of its own for Bucky, and sometimes he wasn't sure which war he preferred. Especially when dealing with reporters who set him on edge with their very first question.

"What was it like when Captain Rogers rescued you from that HYDRA base in Azzano?"

Most reporters tended to respect Azzano as a "do not broach" topic, at least in regards to Bucky's experience there. Some were a little bolder. He understood people wanted to hear about it—how Captain America had saved his best friend from a fate worse than death, how they were reunited and sticking it to the very people who had tortured him. It was a good story, but Bucky still didn't like to talk about it. It'd been almost a year now, but that still didn't seem like enough time. He didn't know if there'd ever be enough time. It didn't seem to matter that months had passed. It still felt like it was chasing after him and that sooner or later, it would catch up. Sometimes he still felt like he'd never made it off that table; that his number was up and had been up, and it was only a matter of time before that caught up to him.

Steve sat tensely beside him, ready to step in if given the slightest indication that he needed to, as usual. Bucky didn't want Steve to have to rescue him though, so he answered a little stiffly, hoping the reporter got the hint, "Unreal. I thought I was hallucinating."

The reporter nodded, seeming fascinated, and that put Bucky off more than anything else. He leaned forward and asked intently, "What was it like in there?"

Bucky sat back in his chair a little, putting a little more distance between himself and the vulture of a reporter. "Bad," he said flatly, and Steve stepped in to change the line of questioning completely.

"I think we should move on to a different topic."

The reporter managed to look slightly chastened at Steve's hard tone and replied, "I'm sorry, Captain Rogers. The people are just fascinated with Sergeant Barnes. He has known you since childhood, after all, and your stories are rather compelling."

Bucky didn't miss the fact that the reporter was apologizing to Steve and not to him. He spoke, annoyed, "Is that why I have to be here and none of the others do?"

"Well two of the Commandos aren't even American," the reporter answered immediately. "And the two of you are the most photogenic."

Steve stiffened beside him and Bucky could just _feel_ the righteous indignation emitting from Steve's every pore. Bucky sat a little straighter in his seat as well and asked Steve, falsely casual, "Does he mean what I think he means?"

Steve's face might as well have been carved from stone, "I believe he was referring to Jim and Gabe."

Bucky widened his eyes, "What?! I thought he was making a rude remark about Dugan's mustache. There's no way he would make a comment about two national heroes in front of the national hero who _hand-picked_ them for his team, right? Surely, no one's that stupid."

"Well I'd certainly hope not," Steve agreed, still staring the reporter down.

"Well, I suppose we could just ask him," Bucky shrugged, turning his own hard gaze on the reporter as well who was now looking a bit pale."

Steve nodded, "Yeah, we could ask him. So what is it, then? Were you referring to Dugan's mustache, or Gabe and Jim's race?"

The reporter looked like he wanted to cry, "Of—of course I wasn't referring to—it's just—uh, you and Sergeant Barnes are good looking young men. What the ladies want to see!"

"Oh, so we're the prettiest?" Bucky stataed.

Steve shook his head in mock pity, "Dugan's gonna cry when he hears this."

Bucky shrugged, "Dugan will get over it. We all know you're the pretty one here."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short, Buck; you're plenty pretty too. And besides, I always thought Dernier was the real looker in the bunch. Morita thinks so too . . . or is it Dernier's explosives he likes so much? I could never tell."

Bucky shrugged, "Beats me." He turned back to the reporter, eyes hard, "Was there anything else you wanted to ask us?"

"No! No, thank you, that was plenty. Thanks," the reporter stammered before he grabbed his things and practically ran from the room.

Bucky snickered after he was gone, "I think he was about to cry."

"Good," Steve said firmly.

Colonel Phillips and Peggy moved into the small conference room they'd been using for the interview. This particular conference room still showed signs of a rather unfortunate and drunken misadventure involving Dernier's new explosives.

"Well that was fast," Phillips remarked, ignoring the two month old scorch marks on the wall in favor of the reporter who'd just fled the room.

Peggy regarded them both with a hard gaze that reminded Bucky eerily of his mother whenever he was in trouble. Bucky put on his best innocent expression, and beside him, Steve did the same. "Why was that reporter running for his life?" she asked disapprovingly.

Bucky answered casually, "He may have made some rather questionable comments regarding our teammates. "We didn't take it well."

Phillips sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Captain Rogers, you are not allowed to inflict pain on reporters and make them cry because they said something you don't like." Bucky raised his hand and waited patiently as Phillips turned an exasperated look on him, "You have a question, Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky nodded, "Can we make them cry with our words, sir?"

Steve snorted beside him.

"Yes, that's completely allowed," Phillips replied and Bucky and Steve grinned wide as school children.

"Perhaps I will just vet any reporters coming in so that we can avoid having anyone cry," Peggy remarked wryly.

"Well you could, but that wouldn't be near as much fun," Bucky replied. Steve nodded his agreement and Peggy shook her head fondly. "What are we going to do with you boys?"

"Send them out to blow up a base," Phillips remarked calmly. "Get them out of our hair for a little while."

"Which one?" Steve asked perking up, even though they'd just gotten back from their last mission. Steve preferred to be out there doing something though, and Bucky understood. He felt the same way, though he knew the boys wouldn't mind a break in civilization.

"Switzerland."

Bucky frowned, "I was wondering when we'd be sent on that particularly impossible mission."

"Well the time has come," Phillips said firmly. "I'm giving you all two full weeks here for rest and planning. It's going to be a hard mission and one you won't have a lot of resources for. We won't be able to help or supply you with reinforcements, because we'd be in direct violation of the Hague Conventions, and we're on thin ice with Switzerland with the number of our fliers they have interned right now anyway. We won't even be able to mount a rescue if one is needed. We can get you near the border, but that's the best we can do."

Bucky huffed in frustration while Steve sat still and thoughtful beside him. He was considering it, Bucky knew, and he couldn't blame him. But at the same time, he was far more realistic than Steve when it came to planning and their limits, and right now Switzerland seemed outright stupid.

"We won't just be on our own, we'll be on our own in a country that will capture us as soon as they see us and stick us in internment camps until the end of the war, and that's if we're lucky. It's not like we can fight them. They're neutral; it'd be as good as a declaration of war."

"So don't get caught," Phillips replied calmly, making Bucky glare, because that felt like the same sort of impossible task that had landed the 107th in HYDRA hands in the first place.

Steve frowned, "I don't understand how Schmidt even has a base in Switzerland. They're neutral."

"Schmidt broke away from Hitler some time ago, and the base was built before the war as a scientific research facility," Peggy explained. "We believe it is still operating as such officially, so the Swiss have no reason to interfere."

Bucky let his frustration show on his face, "So we go in in secret, make it all the way to the base, which is operating as a non-war scientific research base according to the authorities in Switzerland, blow up this non-war scientific research base, which will be seen as an act of aggression, and then make it back out of the country, again without getting caught. Am I the only one who sees how impossible this is?" He turned to Steve, "You see that, right?"

Steve heaved a sigh, but he nodded. "We've done some pretty reckless stuff, and we've done some pretty impossible stuff. But I honestly don't see how we could pull this off."

Phillips frowned, "Here's how it is; Schmidt has managed to buy off key members of the Swiss government. It was probably easy since he's no longer tied to Hitler and can claim neutrality in the war. In any case, the Swiss are averting their eyes, which allows Schmidt to make his weapons and move them out to wherever that seventh base is hiding. He probably thinks we can't touch the place, which means it's possibly there's a link to finding that seventh base. I don't need to tell you how important that is."

Bucky grit his teeth and began pacing about the room in agitation. He knew that it was important, but that didn't make what they were asking of them any less impossible, and he'd be damned if he was going to let them be the sacrificial lambs again.

"There's more," Phillips spoke solemnly, making Bucky listen, even as he kept pacing. "We believe Zola is there at the base."

Bucky stopped mid stride and rounded on Phillips. Steve took a small, surprised step forward. "How sure are you?" Steve asked, and Bucky stood, every muscle in his body frozen, as he waited for that answer.

"Reasonably. Schmidt knows we're getting close. He'll want to keep Zola where we can't get to him. Not to mention, Zola is a Swiss national."

Bucky clenched his fists again and Steve stood stone still.

"We want him alive," Phillips said, dropping the next bombshell.

Bucky swore under his breath and ran a hand through his hair in utter frustration, because of course they wanted him alive. It'd be to easy to just let Bucky shoot the man who had torn him open. No, he was going to _live_. "So now we have to do all that while getting a live prisoner and national out with us?"

"I understand taking Zola alive is not your preference, Sergeant, but the information he could give us would be invaluable in taking down Schmidt."

Bucky stiffened at that, because of course it wasn't his preference for Zola to live, but that was utterly beside the point, and a rather cheap shot. "It's not about preferences, Colonel. It's about what does and doesn't exist in the realm of possibility, and what you're asking doesn't."

Steve said nothing, but the fact that he wasn't disagreeing with Bucky spoke volumes.

"What if we could make it exist in the realm of possibility?" Peggy asked, drawing all of their attention. She'd been silent for the past few minutes.

"Well that depends," Bucky replied. "Can you?"

"The Red Orchestra," she replied.

"Gestapo name for German Resistance forces. We've worked with the Trepper Group in both France and Belgium," Steve replied immediately. "What about them?"

"You've worked with the Trepper group, yes, but there's also a group located in Berlin, and more importantly, there's the Lucy Spy Ring based in Switzerland."

Bucky kept his eyes glued on Peggy as Steve asked, "And you can get us in contact with them?"

"I'm in contact with some friends in MI6 who are trying. I can't make any guarantees, but it's looking promising."

Steve turned to Bucky, and Bucky gave him a look to show he was open to the idea. Not that it mattered; he'd follow Steve even if he didn't agree, and he had already, but it was always nicer when they were on the same page. Steve nodded and spoke, "If you can get us help from them, then this is doable. If they can move us through the country, we have a shot at this. If not, we're going to have to come up with something else. There's just no way we can move several hundred miles through Switzerland on our own without getting caught. There are too many variables. But if they can get us in and out, then that'll give us a shot."

"We probably won't even need them to get out," Bucky allowed. "If this is the weapons transportations hub the Colonel thinks it is, and if the Swiss really are turning a blind eye to whatever is going on up there, then we'll probably be able to commandeer Schmidt's transport on the way out."

Steve nodded, "Good point. We actually might be able to follow the trail to the next base. Make it a double header."

"Next base will probably be easier too," Bucky agreed.

Steve frowned and turned to Peggy and Phillips, "Because we can't fly over Swiss air space, we don't even have an exact location or even an idea of the size, do we?"

Peggy pursed her lips, "I'm talking to MI6 about that as well."

"MI6, huh?" Bucky asked. "Does that mean they've got spies in Switzerland?"

Peggy gave a little sigh, "We're operating under the assumption that _everyone_ has spies in Switzerland, Sergeant. Including MI6, but especially the Germans."

Bucky nodded. It wasn't really surprising.

Peggy stepped forward and held a rolled up map out to Steve. "This has all the information we currently have on Switzerland as well as possible locations of Schmidt's base. I'll let you know as soon as we have new information from MI6. For now, perhaps you and the Sergeant can work on alternate routes in if we're unable to reach the Lucy Spy Ring."

Steve nodded, accepting the map, and after a rather pointed look from Agent Carter, in which Bucky could only assume there'd been plans to meet with Steve later, she left the conference room, leaving them to Phillips.

Phillips heaved a put upon sigh. "Do me a favor and try to keep your men out of as much trouble as possible. I don't need the extra paperwork you boys seem to bring."

"We'll do our best," Steve promised uselessly.

Phillips didn't look at all reassured, "Mhm. Sergeant Barnes, you are to report to Dr. Anderson for a checkup at 0900 tomorrow morning. You'll resume you're normal checkup schedule for the duration of your stay."

Bucky couldn't keep the scowl of his face, because it had been _months_ and whenever the Commandos were at base, Phillips was _still_ making Bucky get every other day checkups. He'd been hoping they'd let up with time, but it seemed over the past months that his levels had started to slowly, slowly change, and that was enough to keep the doctors interested in him. No one, but the doctors and Colonel Phillips, were aware of that though. Steve was under the impression it was still just a precautionary measure, and Bucky had no intention of telling him otherwise. Still, he could feel Steve radiating concern beside him, so he dropped the scowl, shook his head and tried to joke, "The man just can't get enough of me. But I get the feeling he only wants me for my body."

It was enough. Steve relaxed and snorted in amusement. Phillips just shook his head and said, "I'll leave you to it," before leaving them alone in the conference room.

Steve rolled out the map and they spent the next few minutes staring at it, taking in the information Peggy had laid out on the map.

"Do you think we can pull this off?" Steve asked after several minutes of silence. He abandoned staring at the map in favor of looking at Bucky. "Or are we walking right into a trap? If they allow Schmidt in, if they really look the other way, they won't take much notice of Schmidt moving a force through. We won't have any help, and we'll cause more than an international incident. It's possible they wouldn't even intern us. Depending on what Schmidt is giving them, they might just hand us over to him."

"I don't know. They'd have a hard time holding you long enough to give you to Schmidt," Bucky retorted. "Not to mention they're willing to do a lot to maintain their neutrality. Handing the greatest American hero to a maniac like Schmidt would definitely be a big step away from that."

"But they'd have the right after we violate their neutrality," Steve countered, but Bucky was shaking his head before he'd even finished.

"They'd have the right to intern us, not pas us over to Schmidt. But if Schmidt _does_ have a line in the Swiss government, then they might just hand us over all nice and quiet and under the table with the U.S. government none the wiser."

"You think that's a big possibility?" Steve frowned.

"At this point I wouldn't exactly be surprised," Bucky admitted a little grumpily. "But we don't have a whole lot of options at this point, do we? We're going to have to risk it."

Steve looked him over and sighed.

"What?" Bucky asked, stiffening a little defensively.

Steve straightened and stuck his hands in his pockets. He leaned back against the table and gave Bucky a considering look, "Are you this grumpy because of our odds or is this about Zola?"

Bucky stiffened more and shot Steve a warning look; one that was very clearly saying, "End this line of questioning _now_."

Steve returned with his patented "I'm not impressed and I'm not backing down" look. The same one Bucky had been fighting against their entire lives, and his success rate was less than impressive. "Bucky," Steve said, in the matching tone of voice, and Bucky ran a frustrated hand through his hair because he couldn't hold up against Steve like this, and he didn't want to have this conversation.

"Steve," he warned, trying one last time to cut it off before it really began, but Steve characteristically didn't let up.

"Come on, Bucky. You haven't talked about it at all. It's just a question. Is this about the mission itself or is it about Zola? Talk to me."

Bucky grumbled in frustration and started pacing the small room again. "I don't know," he admitted, irritated. "Both, probably."

Steve asked seriously, "Do you think I should tell them no?"

Bucky stopped his pacing and rubbed at his face, "We don't really have that luxury, do we? And if this Spy Ring thing works out, we have a shot. Not a great shot, but it's a shot. There are just a lot more variables than I feel completely comfortable with, to be honest."

Steve nodded, "I agree with you there." They were silent for a minute and Bucky just knew Steve was working his way up to something else. He wasn't done yet. Sure enough, after another minute or so, he hesitantly began, "About Zola . . ." he trailed off pitifully and Bucky shot him an irritated look.

"What do you want me to say, Steve?" he asked impatiently. "No; I don't really want Zola taken alive? I'd prefer he died at the base? I'd really prefer to do it myself just so I can be sure he's never coming back?"

Steve looked sympathetic and pained, "I know, Buck. I'm sorry."

And again, Bucky couldn't stand in the face of that much emotion. His anger drained out of him and he sagged a bit. They stood in silence for a few minutes before Bucky spoke again. "What if he's an accidental casualty? Caught in the crossfire?" he asked with a little smirk to let Steve know that he was okay, and they were okay, and even though he wasn't happy with the mission and Zola, he'd follow Steve anyway.

Steve smirked in response, as usual understanding what Bucky wasn't saying. "Well if it was an accident, it was an accident. Nothing to be done."

Bucky smiled, "Exactly. I mean, a mission like this? We can't expect everything to go perfectly smooth, right?"

Steve nodded, "And it's not like they gave us a lot of room to work with."

"Barely any room at all," Bucky agreed. "Accidents happen."

Steve smirked, but it faded after a moment as he sobered a little. "Look, Buck . . . anything you need with this, just tell me. When it comes time to take in Zola, I'll do it. Unless you want to, then he's all yours. But if not, you don't even have to worry about it, okay? The rest of us will take care of it."

Bucky nodded, "Thanks, Steve. But we're probably getting ahead of ourselves anyway. Even if the Spy Ring does work out, we won't even know for sure if Zola will be there. He might not be."

Steve nodded and didn't push anymore, but he still looked more solemn than Bucky liked, so Bucky grinned and elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey, you wanna do me a favor?"

Steve's expression turned a little wary, but dropped that solemn look. "What kind of a favor?" he asked suspiciously.

Bucky smirked, "Don't worry. you'll like it. By now the boys have gotten their stipend for our two week stay on base. Why don't you help me clean them out in poker?"

Steve chuckled, amused, "That seems a bit cruel. Shouldn't we let them enjoy themselves before our "impossible" mission?"

Bucky shook his head and declared firmly, "It's for the greater good, Steve. If we limit their funds, we limit how roaring drunk they can get each night, which means I'll spend less time and money bribing the MPs and we won't be hauled off in front of a tribunal every other day to explain why a very drunk Dugan felt like the Command Center would make the perfect place to test Dernier's new explosives, and why instead of stopping it, we watched and took bets."

Steve snorted because that was exactly what had led to the scorch marks on the wall, only it had been the conference room and not the command center. Peggy had just barely managed to keep it from the reporters milling about (the brass didn't want that to be the Howling Commandos' reputation) and Bucky and Steve had gotten quite the dressing down from Phillips about the responsibilities of a NCO and CO. Apparently taking bets on the size of the explosion was _not_ the proper response. Phillips, furthermore, didn't even care that Bucky had won the money fairly. Instead, he confiscated Bucky's prize money and used it to repair the damages, though some scorching on the brick remained. The other Commandos had shown very little sympathy towards his stolen prize money.

"Yeah, I'm not sure Phillips really thought this two weeks at base thing through. I don't know that we'll make it the two weeks before he kicks us out again. But what are your plans for their money once we have it?" And they would have it. That wasn't even a question at this point. They just had to buy the boys enough drinks to make them think playing poker was a good idea. Then they'd bleed them dry.

Bucky shrugged lightly, "Well I figure they'll find enough trouble without it. We make sure they get some food these next two weeks instead of just alcohol, then put most of in my bribing the MPs fund, then take a little extra for ourselves as service fees. I'm going to buy a bottle of black market Irish whiskey. And you can take Carter out on a proper date," he declared, snickering when Steve went a little pink.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's against the rules right now, with us being in the same division, and her technically being a fellow officer."

Bucky shrugged, unconcerned. "If anyone asks, you can say it was a meeting about HYDRA. I'm sure Carter will be up for it, what with that burning look she gave you before she left."

Steve went pinker, "Is there anything I can do to make you stop with the Peggy thing?" he fairly begged.

"Nope," Bucky grinned wide. "Now come on; let's go fleece the boys."

MI6 came through on the Lucy Spy Ring, and when their two weeks were up the Howling Commandos headed out towards the French-Swiss border. The Lucy Spy Ring was a small operation but, in the past few months, since the allies had taken full control of France, they'd been working with an underground railroad that was moving Jewish families out of Austria and Germany, through Switzerland, and into allied territory. Switzerland, along with being staunchly neutral, also had a no refugee police, unless they were political refugees with a specific threat against them and their family. Persecution based on race or religion did not grant one refugee status. As such, the hundreds of thousands of Jews who needed help were out of luck. Officially. But the underground railroad had been operating for some time, and the Lucy Spy Ring was a part of it, which meant they had a way in. All they had to do was follow the underground railroad, only backwards, and with members of the Lucy Spy Ring there with them, the members of the railroad were all too welcoming.

The only problem with the plan was that their movements were rather limited. In most cases they had to stay in one location for several days before their benefactors could arrange to move them to the next location. It made things slow going and it was difficult to radio into base. Not to mention they were in close quarters for long periods of time. The people helping them were kind, but being stashed in small rooms or small sheds with no windows was more than trying, especially when they were six full grown men and Captain America. They all had a ton of energy to burn off and no space in which to do it. They'd taken to huddling on one side of their small space so that there was room for one of them to workout at a time. It was the only way they could manage not to kill each other. Ten days in, and Bucky almost missed slogging through the mud up in northern Italy. Not to mention it was winter once more, and Bucky was very sick of being cold.

"This remind you of the winter we were nineteen?" Steve asked Bucky as they sat huddled shoulder to shoulder against the thin wooden walls of the shed they were currently staying in. There was a well hidden underground shelter they could all get into if any authorities came through, but the likelihood was slim, and there was no need to subject themselves to that if it wasn't totally necessary.

"The one where you got pneumonia twice and I spent months terrified you were going to die while we slept?" Bucky asked, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. On the other side of the room Morita, Dugan, and Falsworth were arguing. They kept their voices pitched low, but Bucky's hearing had only gotten better despite all the explosions Dernier subjected them to, and he knew they were arguing about Monty being stingy with his cigarettes, how much space Morita took up when he slept and how loudly Dugan snored. Basically, they'd all been in too close of quarters for too long, and even Jones' patience was wearing thin.

Steve gave a little chuckle, "Yeah, that would be the one."

"You're a lot less bony now, but the cold is definitely familiar," Bucky grumbled. Morita's voice grew louder and Bucky sighed as all three of them grew increasingly angry. To be honest, they'd fared better in captivity in Azzano then the past ten days in Switzerland. It was probably because they'd had a tangible, common enemy to focus their anger and frustration on, and very little energy at the end of the day. That was not the case now, though, and at this rate, a real fight would break out soon.

"The hunger is familiar too," Steve added. Their current benefactors were a small farming family who were trying to make their winter stores last, which meant food was stretched thin, which was also contributing to the impending fight across the shed.

Bucky couldn't tell who was going to throw the first punch, but he decided enough was enough. He grabbed one of his packs of cigarettes and tossed it to Morita. "Jim, have a smoke. You too, Dum Dum. And, Jim, move over there; you'll sleep on the other side of Dernier tonight. Jones go sit by Dernier and let Monty move over here for a bit," he directed sternly and was mollified a bit when all of them moved to do what he said without question. Steve looked mildly amused, as he always did when Bucky snapped everyone into line. Probably because he'd had years practicing on Steve, and Steve enjoyed seeing it done to someone else. At least the others seemed to settle though, and some of the tension left the room. Still, the situation was less than ideal and Bucky let out a sigh and asked Steve grumpily, "Why are we doing this again?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Steve replied, making Bucky roll his eyes, and Steve added. "Or something like that. Too cold to remember right now."

Bucky snorted.

The next morning they got a good laugh when they woke up to see Morita and Dernier all cuddled up and draped over each other like puppies. After all these months, he only got the odd joke about cuddling with his sniper rifle every night, but there'd still been plenty of jokes for Bucky to fully enjoy his revenge. Morita was a bit annoyed but Dernier shrugged it off like it was nothing. Dernier tended to always snuggle up to everyone he slept near, but he was like that in general. Morita, while awake, was not particularly touchy, but he was one cuddly man when asleep, which was amusing to everyone given his cynical and often abrasive personality. Dugan slept like a solid, immobile, and very loud log. Jones and Morita moved about almost constantly in their sleep, which sometimes disturbed whoever was next to they. It also meant they both slept terrible when they were next to each other, because they kept bumping into each other in their sleep. Falsworth tended to sleep like he was lying in a coffin; on his back, hands by his sides, and utterly still. It was rather disturbing sometimes, but it made him easy to sleep by. Bucky slept with his rifle in his arms and shoulder to shoulder or back to back with Steve every night. They had no problem sleeping in confined spaces close together. They'd had years of growing up sleeping on couch cushions and fighting over covers to get used to it. They kept their limbs to themselves, but stayed back to back or shoulder to shoulder for warmth.

"Should we get you two a private room?" Bucky smirked down at them.

Morita shot him a grumpy look, but Dernier merely shrugged and muttered something in French. It'd been enough time that Bucky could understand the, "I wouldn't mind."

"You think we'll be getting breakfast this morning?" Jones asked wistfully.

Steve's expression turned forlorn as he admitted, "I don't know."

Bucky frowned briefly. It was hard on all of them, but Steve's metabolism moved much faster than theirs and if they were all hungry he must have been starving.

"We might have a time of it if we have to take the base on empty stomachs like this," Dugan remarked.

"Especially because we can't just blow it all to hell and run," Bucky agreed. "We have to actually take it if we want to find any information on that other base or Zola."

"That sounds pretty impossible, Sarge," Jones remarked seriously.

"Sure does," Bucky agreed.

"I've been thinking a lot about this," Steve spoke. "And I think it's doable."

Bucky kept his mouth closed, even when his first instinct was to grumble about how of course Steve thought it was doable. He thought infiltrating a base on his own was doable. But he kept his mouth shut, because he would always back Steve in front of the men, or really in front of anyone. It wasn't until they were alone that Bucky would let Steve know exactly what he thought about his plans.

"Obviously we can't plan the particulars just yet," Steve allowed. "We don't even know where the base. For all we know, we might have already passed it. Until the Ring gets back to us with what they've found, we can only generalize. So here's my general plan," he said looking at all of them. "We're going to do this in two parts. We'll have the advantage here. Schmidt and Zola will think there's no way we can get to this base. They won't be expecting us. And this place is operating as a scientific research facility so it's possible they won't have the same amount of troops on hand as the rest. That's not a definite, but it is possible. Bucky and I will go in first, in stealth. We'll plant Dernier's charges, but we'll also look for Zola and information on that seventh base. Dernier and Morita, you'll be in charge of getting us transport out. Dernier speaks French and he can pass for Swiss. You'll probably need to steal uniforms. Falsworth, Dugan, and Jones, you all will be waiting out of sight, but in firing range so if any of us need to make a quick escape, you'll be there for cover fire."

"Any reason our resident sniper isn't the one covering our asses?" Morita asked.

Bucky already knew the reason and answered, "Because these three aren't all that great in the stealth department, and you and Dernier are the ones who can hot wire our getaway vehicle,"

Steve nodded in agreement, "Buck's the best bet on stealth."

Bucky nodded, proud. He'd been stealthy as a sniper, but he'd only gotten better over the months, and he'd even managed to sneak up on Steve once or twice, which was no mean feat with his super soldier hearing.

Morita nodded, "Fair enough."

"Ideally Bucky and I will find Zola or the location of that base, then we'll meet up with Dernier and Morita who will hopefully have been able to pass for HYDRA and get us a ride, then we'll pick you three up and get on the road before setting off the charges. If things don't go according to plan, we'll do the same thing; just with a lot more shooting involved," Steve spoke and the others snorted.

"It's a good thing those HYDRA goons wear those helmeted uniforms or else passing for HYDRA would cause a problem," Morita remarked making the others snort.

The door opened, and Bucky snatched up his rifle automatically before realizing it was just the man and woman whose farm they were staying on. Steve quirked an eyebrow at him but Bucky just shrugged. Steve had had plenty of time to get used to his paranoia by now. To the farmer's credit, he didn't even looked fazed by Bucky's reaction. Instead, he just moved to the center of the crowded shed and placed down a large steaming pot of porridge. The woman placed seven bowls and spoons beside it and spoke in German. Jones translated.

"She says eat it while it's hot," Jones said before replying to her gratefully. They made quick work of passing round the bowls and spoons and Steve distributed an even amount to all of them until the pot was empty. Bucky rolled his eyes behind his back when he realized Steve hadn't given himself any extra, even though he needed more than all of them.

The man handed Steve a map and spoke.

"That's from our mutual friends," Jones translated. "Looks like they finally got a location for us. Also he's going to take us to our next location tonight."

Steve thanked the man profusely, and in fairly decent German and the woman promised to bring them sandwiches later that afternoon. They scarfed down their porridge and while Steve was distracted, Bucky managed to get a good amount of his into Steve's bowl. When Jones and Morita passed him the remnants of theirs, Bucky managed to get that in there as well. It was pretty easy while Steve was distracted by the map, and Steve didn't seem to notice when the amount of porridge in his bowl increased several times.

"We're not too far off," Steve spoke, showing them the base on the map. Their new comrades had thoughtfully included a wealth of information about the base and Bucky wondered whether it came from MI6, the spy ring or both. "And it looks like there are less forces here than at other bases we've been to. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if Schmidt moved forces from here to other bases to fortify them."

"Too bad it didn't work, huh?" Morita grinned.

"Too bad," Steve agreed lightly. "Whenever we get there, we'll watch it for a few days, refine the plan, come up with contingencies, and then we'll move. When we move out, we'll cross the border into Italy through the mountains. Our friends have even marked several good routes for us to take.

"Well that was thoughtful of them," Bucky remarked.

"Stark can pick us up in Italy," Steve continued. "Any questions?"

There were none and within the next four days Bucky was once again, up in a tree, watching the base through his snipers scope.

"Mountains. Why is it always mountains?" Dugan complained on the ground below him. "Why can't we infiltrate a base on a beach somewhere, huh? Enjoy the sun for a change."

Bucky ignored him and stayed focused on the guards he was clocking. "Tell Steve I've got us a way in. Dernier and Morita too," he called to Dugan below him. Steve was right. These people weren't exactly the height of vigilance. Bucky swept his scope over every inch of the base three times, looking for any sign that Zola was there. There were none, of course, but that didn't mean Zola wasn't hiding in there somewhere. His jaw clenched at the thought. Just the idea of being so close to Zola again made him want to shoot someone.

"Cap said good job and we're going in tonight, so get down here and let's get back to the others," Dugan called from below him, shaking him from his thoughts.

"Good, cause I don't think I could take another night out here with no fire," Bucky declared as he moved down the tree.

"You're telling me, Jimmy," Dugan declared, making Bucky growl on reflex. They moved quickly through the snow until they were back with the others. Steve had already drawn a basic sketch of the base and Bucky quickly filled them in on the guards.

"These guys aren't expecting anything," he confirmed. "There are only four walking the perimeter. Two on the ground and two on the second level. They walk their rounds, but there's a two minute gap on the north side where no one is visible and a minute and a half gap on the south side where they store the vehicles."

Steve turned to Morita and Dernier, "You two go in through that gap, take out the first two guards you see, stash them where they won't be found quickly, and take their uniforms. Then get us a truck and move to the north side. Bucky and I will come to you, hopefully with Zola. Then we'll pick up the others and get out of here. Everyone clear?"

Everyone agreed and they settled in to wait for darkness, several of them lying down for naps. Bucky knew he could probably use one, but as it got closer and closer to evening, he felt more and more restless. Zola was possibly in there, and if he was, Bucky would be facing him soon. It made his hand twitch towards his rifle. It made him sick.

It didn't take long for Steve to catch on to Bucky's ever darkening mood. He left him alone for all of five minutes before he stood and jerked his head towards the trees. Bucky sighed but followed him. Steve waited until they were a decent distance away and well out of earshot before he asked, "You going to be okay?"

Bucky took a bracing breath. "Yeah. I'll be okay."

"You're not going to shoot him, are you?" Steve asked giving Bucky an assessing look. It wasn't the look of Steve the friend asking Bucky if he were alright, like the last question. This was the look of Steve the CO trying to determine whether his NCO was going to be a liability on the mission. He was looking at Bucky like needed to know if he needed to take him off the infiltration part of the mission and have him cover their asses instead.

Bucky sighed and answered honestly. "I promise I'll try not to." That was all he could give.

Steve nodded, accepting it and turning back into Steve the friend once more. "You want to talk about it?"

Bucky snorted because he _really_ didn't want to talk about it. But the maddening feeling of his body trying to claw its way out of his own skin wasn't going to go away if he just sat there and moped about it. There were a lot of things he could say and probably needed to say. He could talk about how in the middle of the night, when he jerked awake from nightmares he was afraid that Zola would come back, that he'd get his hands on Bucky once more. He could talk about how Bucky still didn't know what the man had done to him when he cut him open, and how the scar wasn't even very visible anymore, and how that was one of the reasons the doctors still insisted on seeing him as frequently as possible when they were in London. He could talk about what Zola took from him, how he was a different man after Azzano and that table. Bucky had changed. He didn't know what Zola had done to him, but he felt different than he had before the table. Not just mentally, but physically too. The others knew it, and Steve definitely knew it. He was different, and Bucky didn't know how different, and that was a pretty terrible feeling, not knowing all the ways he had changed. It made him feel that much further from the man he'd been before. Worst of all though, was the feeling that he was living on borrowed time. After all these months, he still felt like he was running from something, and whatever it was, it was catching up to him.

He could have told Steve any of that, but all he said was, "I _really_ want to shoot him, Steve." It pretty much got the impression across anyway.

"I know, Buck," Steve said empathetically, though Bucky didn't think Steve had ever wanted to shoot anyone in his life. Still, he didn't begrudge Bucky the desire to put a bullet through Zola's head, and Bucky appreciated that.

Steve then smirked and added lightly, "Hey, if you ask Dernier nicely, he might let you push the button to send the place up in flames."

Bucky snorted, "Fat chance. That's Dernier's favorite part."

Steve shrugged, "I don't know. You give him those big mopey eyes of yours, and I'm willing to bet he'll give in. Bet you the last of my chocolate bar."

"And what do I have to give you in return?"

"The rest of your cigarettes. I need to barter them for Morita's coffee grounds."

Bucky snorted, "Fine. You're on."

They moved back to the others and waited for darkness to fall. When it was finally time, Bucky moved silently with Steve through the shadows. For being so bulky, Steve wasn't bad at stealth. Bucky was better though, and he had the instincts for it. Or maybe it was just that Bucky had a lifetime to get used to his body and Steve had only had the last two years. Despite that, Steve wasn't bad and they moved quickly through the base.

The first guard they came across spotted them before they could get out of sight, and Bucky quickly dove forward and stabbed his knife into the man's neck before he could alert anyone else. He kept his knife in the man's neck, so he wouldn't leave a blood trail to alert any guards, and looped his other arm around him before dragging him over to a door Steve opened. Bucky dropped him out of sightline from the open door and only then removed the knife, which allowed the blood to flow more freely.

"I could have used my shield," Steve remarked, grimacing slightly at the body.

Bucky shook his head, "Too loud." He then pulled one of the charges from his bag and dropped it on the body.

"Maybe we should take the next one alive so we can interrogate him," Steve remarked thoughtfully.

"Good idea, but let's make it a scientist," Bucky replied. "They're more likely to crack. We don't have time to fully interrogate a guard."

Steve nodded his agreement and led the way out again. They continued to move down the corridors, periodically placing charges out of sight as they did so. The next guard they came across, Steve put in a sleeper hold that he wouldn't wake up from. They hid him out of sight like they did the last one and continued on. Eventually they reached a lab with Zola's name on it.

Bucky clenched his hands into fists to hide their slight shaking.

"You ready for this?" Steve asked quietly.

"No," Bucky replied.

Steve silently opened the door and they slipped inside. It was empty aside from a man in a white coat. A man in a white coat who wasn't Zola.

"Put your hands up," Steve spoke firmly, gun raised.

The man jumped and spun around, hands immediately going up. Bucky's jaw clenched as every muscle in his body pulled tight. He recognized this scientist. He'd been one of the ones assisting Zola in Azzano.

"You!" the man gasped fearfully and took a shaky step back when he saw him.

"Yeah. Me," Bucky growled darkly.

"Sit," Steve ordered, gesturing to a chair briefly with his gun. "You scream or in anyway alert anyone to our presence here, and I'll let Sergeant Barnes shoot you."

"You should let me shoot him anyway," Bucky remarked. Steve gave a little shrug.

The scientist dropped heavily into the chair, hands still up, and very clearly afraid. "Please, don't kill me," he begged. He was looking at Steve, but he kept glancing fearfully at Bucky who just scowled at him. He'd helped Zola torture him. He'd dug those electrodes in under Bucky's skin, he'd wrenched his head to the side so Zola could jab needles into his neck. He'd stood there and taken notes while Bucky screamed. Bucky very much wanted to kill him.

"Where's Zola?" he asked instead.

"Dr. Zola? He isn't here! He's in Germany! He isn't here!" Bucky didn't think he was lying. He looked too openly terrified for that.

"How long will he be in Germany?" Steve asked.

"He leaves tomorrow. He's supposed to be coming back here by train, but he's stopping in Austria first. He'll back here in two days."

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look before Steve asked, "Where's the base you ship all your weapons too? Where's Schmidt's main base?"

The man's eyes widened in terror, "What? I don't—I don't know! Please don't kill me, I don't know!"

"How can you not know?" Bucky demanded angrily.

"I've never been there. Only Zola has."

"But the weapons are shipped there. How can you not know?" Steve asked impatiently.

"I don't! I'm a scientist, not an engineer. I was never involved in the weapons building. I was only involved in the . . ." he paused and glanced at Bucky fearfully.

"In the science experiments?" Bucky demanded harshly. "Like me?" He didn't say anything, but the answer was obvious. "So what you're telling us is that you're useless," Bucky spoke, raising his gun.

The man's eyes nodded, "What? No! I—"

Steve stepped forward, and struck him in the side of the head. His head dropped back against the chair as he lost consciousness.

"Steve," Bucky protested, but Steve met his gaze firmly. "The blast will kill him. You don't need to."

"Yeah, but I want to," Bucky protested.

Steve didn't waver, "Exactly." Bucky glared but Steve didn't flinch and Bucky knew he wasn't about to back down on this. "We're wasting time, Bucky," he said calmly. "We need to place the rest of these charges and get out of here."

"What about Zola? What about the base?"

"We know where Zola's going to be. He'll know where to find the base," Steve said firmly. "Now come on. Let's leave the charges and go meet with the others."

Bucky glared at Steve uselessly for two more seconds before he gave in. "Fine," he huffed, putting a charge on the table. "But I'm not happy about it."

"Course not," Steve agreed, checking the hall before ushering him out. "But, if you ask Dernier nicely, you can blow the place and I'm sure that will help you feel better."

"It better," Bucky muttered grumpily.

Steve grinned at him.

They made quick work of evenly distributing the charges throughout most of the base. The rest they clustered in the weapons storage, ensuring they'd get a big enough explosion to take the whole place down. The had to take out a few more guards as they made their way back to the Northern side of the base, but no one had the chance to raise the alarm, and when they walked out the door Morita and Dernier were waiting with the truck.

"No Zola?" Morita asked as they jumped in. Dernier stayed in the driver's seat in case they were stopped by anyone. He was the only who could pass as Swiss.

"No, but we know where he'll be," Steve declared. "Come on. Let's go get the others."

No one thought anything was out of the ordinary as they left the base and just up the road. Dugan, Jones, and Monty jumped in the truck, Dugan complaining about the lack of action. Dernier immediately put the car in motion once more.

"It does feel rather anticlimactic," Monty agreed.

"Well let's fix that," Morita declared. "Frenchie, you gonna blow the place?"

He responded in French, but Bucky understood, "In a minute."

"Wanna let me do it?" Bucky asked, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. He still felt incredibly high strung.

Dernier glanced over his shoulder, took one look at Bucky's face, and nodded. "Okay." He drove a mother minute to make sure they were far enough from the blast radius, then they all climbed out of the truck. Dernier handed Bucky the detonator.

"So what's the plan?" Monty asked Steve. "No Zola, but did you at least find out where that base is?"

"No," Steve replied. "But we know where Zola's going to be. In two days he's going to be on a train from Austria back here. We're going to intercept him.

"In Austria?" Jones asked.

Steve nodded, "Yep."

"Before he gets on the train?" it was Monty this time.

"Nope," Steve replied, popping the p.

Bucky gave a flat look as he realized, " _On_ the train?"

"Yep."

Dugan grinned, "I like it."

"I don't," Monty replied.

"Of course you don't. You never like the fun plans," Morita retorted.

"We have two days," Steve replied. "Two days to study the track and find the best way to get on that train. We'll talk with base, they'll have us an exit strategy. We'll grab Zola, get out and go."

"And how exactly are we going to get on the train?" Bucky asked.

"Off the top of my head? I'm thinking zip line."

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle, "We'll we've done stupider."

"But how do we get off?" Morita asked with a thoughtful frown.

"I haven't gotten to that part yet. Maybe just take control of the train and walk off?" Steve guessed.

"Let's do it," Dugan declared. "We get Zola and we'll be halfway to Schmidt."

The others agreed readily and Bucky nodded along with them. It was a terrible idea. The same kind of terrible they pulled off all the time. It was the same kind of terrible that had gotten them their reputation in the first place. There were a million ways it could go wrong and he had a terrible feeling about it, but this place would be crawling with Swiss soldiers by sunup and they had a better shot of getting to Zola in Austria, even if it was enemy territory. Besides, Steve was right. Intercepting the train was their only feasible option, as there was no way they could move freely through an Austrian town to stop Zola before he boarded. Still, it was a terrible idea.

He shook off the thoughts and held up the detonator, deciding they could all do with a massive explosion, "You boys ready for this?"

"Hell yeah! Blow it to hell!" Dugan declared, gripping his shoulder.

"Fuck you, Zola," Bucky declared, pressing the button. There was a pause and then suddenly, dozens of explosions ripped through the base, shaking the ground beneath their feet, even from the distance they all stood.

The others let out huge cheers as the flames leapt up into the sky as the explosions continued. Bucky grinned fiercely and felt a deep sort of satisfaction as the place burned. He hoped Zola lost every bit of his work.

Steve moved beside him as the others yelled, clapped and cheered. He grinned wide and with no small touch of excitement declared, "We're going to hijack a train. You ready for this?"

Bucky grinned, "Not even close."

Steve chuckled, "Well get ready. I want you there with me."

Bucky laughed and tossed his arm over Steve's huge shoulders, "Come on, Steve; you know I'd follow you anywhere."

Steve beamed and Bucky rolled his eyes and shook his head. He'd follow Steve anywhere, to hell and back, to the end of the line, for better or worse, until whatever it was that was chasing him finally caught up to him. He stood there, watching the place burn to the ground, Dugan and Dernier singing one of their loud victory songs, Monty, Jones, and Morita smoking celebratory cigarettes, and Steve standing beside him, grinning like he was on top of the world. As Bucky watched them, a slimy, sickening feeling settled into his gut. He watched them all and felt a growing sense of foreboding. He could feel it; their luck running out. Or his luck running out. Whatever was chasing him was catching up. He only hoped he had more time. He needed more time.

Two days later, he was falling from a train. He didn't have more time.


End file.
